PS 3525 
 .U398 C66 
 1913 
 
 to^^^vx^ C 
 
^.. 
 
THE COMING OF 
 Hopalong Cassidy 
 
CLARENCE E. MULFORD 
 
 THE COMING OF 
 
 Hopalon 
 Cassidy 
 
 Grosset & Dunlap Publishers 
 
 NEW YORK 
 

 COPYRIGHT 1900 BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION 
 
 COPYRIGHT I9II BY FIELD AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO, 
 
 COPYRIGHT I912 BY THE PEARSON PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT I913 BY THE PEARSON PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 
 
 I9I3 
 UNDER THE TITLE: THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 COPYRIGHTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 OCT 10.1995 
 
 GIFT 
 
 
 1 
 
 'ixM^ 
 
 ' VAt/K.a/4^ 
 
Preface 
 
 It was on one of my annual visits to the ranch that Red, whose 
 welcome always seemed a little warmer than that o£ the others, 
 finally took me back to the beginning. My friendship with the 
 outfit did not begin until some years after the fight at Buckskin, 
 and, while I was familiar with that affair and with the history of 
 the outfit from that time on, I had never seemed to make much 
 headway back of that encounter. And I must confess that if I 
 had depended upon the rest of the outfit for enlightenment I 
 should have learned very little of its earlier exploits. A more 
 secretive and bashful crowd, when it came to their own achieve- 
 ments, would be hard to find. But Red, the big, smiling, under- 
 foreman, at last completely thawed and during the last few weeks 
 of my stay, told me story after story about the earlier days of the 
 ranch and the parts played by each member of the outfit. Names 
 that I had heard mentioned casually now meant something to 
 me; the characters stepped out of the obscurity of the past to act 
 their parts again. To my mind's eye came Jimmy Price, even 
 more mischievous than Johnny Nelson; "Butch" Lynch and 
 Charley James, who erred in judgment; the coming and going 
 of Sammy Porter, and why "You-Bet" Somes never arrived; and 
 others who did their best, or worst, and went their way. The tales 
 will follow, as closely as possible, in chronological order. Between 
 some of them the interval is short; between others, long; the less 
 interesting stories that should fill those gaps may well be omitted. 
 It was in the '70s, when the buffalo were fast disappearing from 
 the state, and the hunters were beginning to turn to other ways 
 of earning a living, that Buck Peters stopped his wagon on the 
 banks of Snake Creek and built himself a sod dugout in the 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 heart of a country forbidding and full of perils. It was said that 
 he was only the agent for an eastern syndicate that, carried away 
 by the prospects of the cattle industry, bought a "ranch," which 
 later was found to be entirely strange to cattle. As a matter of fact 
 there were no cows within three hundred miles of it, and there 
 never had been. Somehow the syndicate got in touch with Buck 
 and sent him out to look things over and make a report to them. 
 This he did, and in his report he stated that the "ranch" was split 
 in two parts by about forty square miles of public land, which he 
 recommended that he be allowed to buy according to his judg- 
 ment. When everything was settled the syndicate found that they 
 owned the west, and best, bank of an unfailing river and both 
 banks of an unfailing creek for a distance of about thirty miles. 
 The strip was not very wide then, but it did not need to be, for 
 it cut off the back-lying range from water and rendered it useless 
 to anyone but his employers. Westward there was no water to 
 amount to anything for one hundred miles. When this had been 
 digested thoroughly by the syndicate it caused Buck's next pay 
 check to be twice the size of the first. 
 
 He managed to live through the winter, and the following 
 spring a herd of about two thousand or more poor cattle was 
 delivered to him, and he noticed at once that fully half of them 
 were unbranded; but mavericks were cows, and in those days it 
 was not questionable to brand them. Persuading two members of 
 the drive outfit to work for him he settled down to face the work 
 and perils of ranching in a wild country. One of these two men, 
 George Travis, did not work long; the other was the man who 
 told me these tales. Red went back with the drive outfit, but in 
 Buck's wagon, to return in four weeks with it heaped full of 
 necessities, and to find that troubles already had begun. Buck's 
 trust was not misplaced. It was during Red's absence that Bill 
 Cassidy, later to be known by a more descriptive name, appeared 
 
 upon the scene and played his cards. 
 
 C. E. M. 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I The Coming of Cassidy . i 
 
 II The Weasel 12 
 
 III Jimmy Price ^6 
 
 IV Jimmy Visits Sharpsville 50 
 
 V The Luck of Fools 65 
 
 VI Hopalong's Hop 82 
 
 VII "Dealing the Odd" 96 
 
 VlII The Norther 109 
 
 IX The Drive 123 
 
 X The Hold-up 138 
 
 XI Sammy Finds a Friend 157 
 
 XII Sammy Knows the Game 175 
 
 XIII His Code 192 
 
 XIV Sammy Hunts a Job 208 
 
 XV When Johnny Sloped 222 
 
 vu 
 
THE COMING OF 
 Hopalong Cassidy 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 The Coming of Cassidy 
 
 The trail boss shook his fist after the departing puncher and 
 swore softly. He hated to lose a man at this time and he had been 
 a little reckless in threatening to "fire" him; but in a gun-fighting 
 outfit there was no room for a hot-head. "Cimarron" was boss 
 of the outfit that was driving a large herd of cattle to California, 
 a feat that had been accomplished before, but that no man cared 
 to attempt the second time. Had his soul been eiu-iched by the 
 gift of prophecy he would have turned back. As it was he re- 
 turned to the work ahead of him. "Aw, let him go," he growled. 
 "He's wuss ofl'n I am, an' he'll find it out quick. I never did see 
 nobody what got crazy mad so quick as him." 
 
 "Bill" Cassidy, not yet of age, but a man in stature and 
 strength, rode north because it promised him civilization quicker 
 than any other way except the back trail, and he was tired of the 
 coast range. He had forgotten the trail-boss during the last three 
 days of his solitary journeying and the fact that he was in the 
 center of an uninhabited country nearly as large as a good-sized 
 state gave him no concern; he was equipped for two weeks, and 
 fortified by youth's confidence. 
 
 All day long he rode, around mesas and through draws, de- 
 touring to avoid canyons and bearing steadily northward with a 
 certainty that was a heritage. Gradually the great bulk of mesas 
 swung off to the west, and to the east the range grew steadily 
 more level as it swept toward the peaceful river lying in the dis- 
 tant valley like a carelessly flung rope of silver. The forest vege- 
 tation, so luxuriant along the rivers and draws a day or two 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 before, was now rarely seen, while chaparrals and stunted mes- 
 quite became more common. 
 
 He was more than twenty-five hundred feet above the ocean, 
 on a great plateau broken by mesas that stretched away for miles 
 in a vast sea of grass. There was just enough tang in the dry 
 April air to make riding a pleasure and he did not mind the 
 dryness of the season. Twice that day he detour ed to ride around 
 prairie-dog towns and the sight of buffalo skeletons lying in 
 groups was not rare. Alert and contemptuous gray wolves gave 
 him a pvassing glance, but the coyotes, slinking a little farther off, 
 watched him with more interest. Occasionally he had a shot at 
 antelope and once was successful. 
 
 Warned by the gathering dusk he was casting about for the 
 most favorable spot for his blanket and fire when a horseman 
 swung into sight out of a draw and reined in quickly. Bill's hand 
 fell carelessly to his side while he regarded the stranger, who 
 spoke first, and with a restrained welcoming gladness in his 
 voice. "Howd'y, Stranger! You plumb surprised me." 
 
 Bill's examination told him that the other was stocky, com- 
 pactly built, with a pleasing face and a "good eye." His age was 
 about thirty and the surface indications were very favorable. 
 "Some surprised myself," he replied. "Ridin' my way?" 
 
 "Par's th' house," smiled the other. "Better join us. Couple 
 of buffalo hunters dropped in awhile back." 
 
 "They'll go a long way before they'll find buffalo," Bill re- 
 sponded, suspiciously. Glancing around he readily picked out the 
 rectangular blot in the valley, though it was no easy feat. "Huntin' 
 or ranchin'?" he inquired in tones devoid of curiosity. 
 
 "Ranchin'," smiled the other. 'Hefty proposition, up here, I 
 reckon. Th' wolves'll walk in under yore nose. But I ain't seen 
 no Injuns." 
 
 "You will," was the calm reply. "You'll see a couple, first; an' 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 3 
 
 then th' whole cussed tribe. They ain't got no buffalo no more, 
 neither." 
 
 Buck glanced at him sharply and thought of the hunters, but 
 he nodded. "Yes. But if that couple don't go back?" he asked, 
 referring to the Indians. 
 
 "Then you'll save a little time." 
 
 "Well, let 'em come. I'm here to stay, one way or th' other. 
 But, anyhow, I ain't got no border ruffians like they have over in 
 th' Panhandle. They're worse'n Injuns." 
 
 "Yes," agreed Bill. "Th' war ain't ended yet for some of them 
 fellers. Ex-guerrillas, lots of 'em." 
 
 When they reached the house the buffalo hunters were arguing 
 about their next day's ride and the elder, looking up, appealed to 
 Bill. "Howd'y, Stranger. Ain't come 'cross no buflaler signs, 
 hev ye?" 
 
 Bill smiled. "Bones an' old chips. But th' gray wolves was 
 headin' southwest." 
 
 "What'd I tell you?" triumphantly exclaimed the younger 
 hunter. 
 
 "Well, they ain't much dif'rence, is they?" growled his com- 
 panion. 
 
 Bill missed nothing the hunters said or did and during the 
 silent meal had a good chance to study their faces. When the 
 pipes were going and the supper wreck cleaned away, Buck 
 leaned against the wall and looked across the room at the latest 
 arrival. "Don't want a job, do you?" he asked. 
 
 Bill shook his head slowly, wondering why the hunters had 
 frowned at a job being offered on another man's ranch. "I'm 
 headed north. But I'll give you a hand for a week if you need 
 me," he offered. 
 
 Buck smiled. "Much obliged, friend; but it'll leave me worse 
 ojBF than before. My other puncher'U be back in a few weeks with 
 
4 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 th' supplies, but I need four men all year round. I got a thousand 
 head to brand yet." 
 
 The elder hunter looked up. "Drive 'em back to cow-country 
 an' sell 'em, or locate there," he suggested. 
 
 Buck's glance was as sharp as his reply, for he couldn't believe 
 that the hunter had so soon forgotten what he had been told 
 regarding the ownership of the cattle. 'I don't own 'em. This 
 range is bought an' paid for. I won't lay down." 
 
 "I done forgot they ain't yourn," hastily replied the hunter, 
 smiling to himself. Stolen cattle cannot go back. 
 
 "If they was I'd stay," crisply retorted Buck. "I ain't quittin' 
 nothin' I starts." 
 
 "How many '11 you have nex' spring.?" grinned the younger 
 hunter. He was surprised by the sharpness of the response. 
 "More'n I've got now, you c'n bet your boots!" 
 
 Bill nodded approval. He felt a sudden, warm liking for this 
 rugged man who would not quit in the face of such handicaps. 
 He liked game men, better if they were square, and he believed 
 this foreman was as square as he was game. "By th' Lord!" he 
 ejaculated. "For a plugged peso I'd stay with you!" 
 
 Buck smiled warmly. "Would good money do? But don't you 
 stay if you oughtn't, son." 
 
 When the light was out Bill lay awake for a long time, his 
 mind busy with his evening's observations, and they pleased him 
 so little that he did not close his eyes until assured by the breath- 
 ing of the hunters that they were asleep. His Colt, which should 
 have been hanging in its holster on the wall where he had left it, 
 lay unsheathed close to his thigh and he awakened frequently 
 during the night so keyed was he for the slightest sound. Up 
 first in the morning, he replaced the gun in its scabbard before 
 the others opened their eyes, and it was not until the hunters 
 had ridden out of sight into the southwest that he entirely relaxed 
 his vigilance. Saying good-by to the two cowmen was not with- 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 out regrets, but he shook hands heartily with them and swung 
 decisively northward. 
 
 He had been riding perhaps two hours, thinking about the little 
 ranch and the hunters, when he stopped suddenly on the very 
 brink of a sheer drop of two hundred feet. In his abstraction he 
 had ridden up the sloping southern face of the mesa without 
 noticing it. "Bet there ain't another like this for a hundred miles," 
 he laughed, and then ceased abruptly and stared with unbelieving 
 eyes at the mouth of a draw not far away. A trotting line of gray 
 wolves was emerging from it and swinging toward the south- 
 west ten abreast. He had never heard of such a thing before and 
 watched them in amazement. "Well, I'm — !" he exclaimed, and 
 his Colt flashed rapidly at the pack. Two or three dropped, but 
 the trotting line only swerved a little without pause or a change 
 of pace and soon was lost in another draw. "Why, they're single 
 hunters," he muttered. "Huh! I won't never tell this. I can't 
 hardly believe it myself. How 'bout you, Ring-Bone?" he asked 
 the horse. 
 
 Turning, he rode around a rugged pinnacle of rock and stopped 
 again, gazing steadily along the back trail. Far away in a valley 
 two black dots were crawling over a patch of sand and he knew 
 them to be horsemen. His face slowly reddened with anger at the 
 espionage, for he had not thought the cowmen could doubt his 
 good will and honesty. Then suddenly he swore and spurred 
 forward to cover those miles as speedily as possible. "Come on, 
 ol' Hammer-Head!" he cried. "We're goin' back!" 
 
 The hunters had finally decided they would ride into the south- 
 west and had ridden off in that direction. But they had detoured 
 and swung north to see him pass and be sure he was not in their 
 way. Now, satisfied upon that point, they were going back to 
 that herd of cattle, easily turned from skinning buffalo to cattle, 
 and on a large scale. To do this they would have to kill two men 
 and then, waiting for the absent puncher to return with the 
 
O THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 wagon, kill him and load down the vehicle with skins. "Like heck 
 they will!" he gritted. "Three or none, you piruts. Come on, 
 White-Eye! Don't sleep all th' time; an' don't light often'r once 
 every ten yards, you saddle-galled, barrel-bellied runt!" 
 
 Into hollows, out again; shooting down steep-banked draws 
 and avoiding cacti and chaparral with cat-like agility, the much- 
 described Httle pony butted the wind in front and left a low-lying 
 cloud of dust swirling behind as it whirred at top speed with 
 choppy, tied-in stride in a winding circle for the humble sod 
 hut on Snake Creek. The rider growled at the evident speed of 
 the two men ahead, for he had not gained upon them despite 
 his efforts. "If I'm too late to stop it, I'll clean th' slate, anyhow," 
 he snapped. "Even if I has to ambush! Will you run?" he de- 
 manded, and the wild-eyed litde bundle of whalebone and steel 
 found a little more speed in its flashing legs. 
 
 The rider now began to accept what cover he could find and 
 when he neared the hut left the shelter of the last, low hill for 
 that afforded by a draw leading to within a hundred yards of 
 the dugout's rear wall. Dismounting, he ran lightly forward on 
 foot, alert and with every sense strained for a warning. 
 
 Reaching the wall he peered around the corner and stifled an 
 exclamation. Buck's puncher, a knife in his back, lay head down 
 the sloping path. Placing his ear to the wall he listened intently 
 for some moments and then suddenly caught sight of a shadow 
 slowly creeping past his toes. Quickly as he sprang aside he barely 
 missed the flashing knife and the bulk of the man behind it, 
 whose hand, outflung to save his balance, accidentally knocked 
 the Colt from Bill's grasp and sent it spinning twenty feet away. 
 
 Without a word they leaped together, fighting silently, both 
 trying to gain the gun in the hunter's holster and trying to keep 
 the other from it. Bill, forcing the fighting in hopes that his 
 youth would stand a hot pace better than the other's years, pushed 
 his enemy back against the low roof of the dugout; but as the 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 7 
 
 hunter tripped over it and fell backward, he pulled Bill with 
 him. Fighting desperately they rolled across the roof and dropped 
 to the sloping earth at the doorway, so tightly locked in each 
 other's arms that the jar did not separate them. The hunter, 
 falling underneath, got the worst of the fall but kept on fighting. 
 Crashing into the door head first, they sent it swinging back 
 against the wall and followed it, bumping down the two steps 
 still locked together. 
 
 Bill possessed strength remarkable for his years and build and 
 he was hard as iron; but he had met a man who had the sinewy 
 strength of the plainsman, whose greater age was offset by greater 
 weight and the youth was constantly so close to defeat that a 
 single false move would have been fatal. But luck favored him> 
 for as they surged around the room they crashed into the heavy 
 table and fell with it on top of them. The hunter got its full 
 weight and the gash in his forehead filled his eyes with blood. 
 By a desperate effort he pinned Bill's arm under his knee and 
 with his left hand secured a throat grip, but the under man 
 wriggled furiously and bridged so suddenly as to throw the 
 hunter off him and Bill's freed hand, crashing full into the other's 
 stomach, flashed back to release the weakened throat grip and 
 jam the tensed fingers between his teeth, holding them there with 
 all the power of his jaws. The dazed and gasping hunter, bend- 
 ing forward instinctively, felt his own throat seized and was 
 dragged underneath his furious opponent. 
 
 In his Berserker rage Bill had forgotten about the gun, his 
 fury sweeping everything from him but the primal desire to 
 kill with his hands, to rend and crush like an animal. He 
 was brought to his senses very sharply by the jarring, crashing 
 roar of the six-shooter, the powder blowing away part of his 
 shirt and burning his side. Twisting sideways he grasped the 
 weapon with one hand, the wrist with the other and bent the 
 gun slowly back, forcing its muzzle farther and farther from 
 
8 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 him. The hunter, at last managing to free his left hand from 
 the other's teeth, found it useless when he tried to release the 
 younger man's grip of the gun; and the Colt, roaring again, 
 dropped from its owner's hand as he relaxed. 
 
 The victor leaned against the wall, his breath coming in 
 great, sobbing gulps, his knees sagging and his head near burst- 
 ing. He reeled across the wrecked room, gulped down a drink 
 of whisky from the bottle on the shelf and, stumbling, groped 
 his way to the outer air where he flung himself down on the 
 ground, dazed and dizzy. When he opened his eyes the air 
 seemed to be filled with flashes of fire and huge, black fantastic 
 blots that changed form with great swiftness and the hut danced 
 and shifted like a thing of life. Hot bands seemed to encircle 
 his throat and the throbbing in his temples was like blows of a 
 hammer. While he writhed and fought for breath a faint gun- 
 shot reached his ears and found him apathetic. But the second, 
 following closely upon the first, seemed clearer and brought 
 him to himself long enough to make him arise and stumble 
 to his horse, and claw his way into the saddle. The animal, mad- 
 dened by the steady thrust of the spurs, pitched viciously and 
 bolted; but the rider had learned his art in the sternest school 
 in the world, the "busting" corrals of the great Southwest, and 
 he not only stuck to the saddle, but guided the fighting animal 
 through a barranca almost choked with obstructions. 
 
 Stretched full length in a crevice near the top of a mesa 
 lay the other hunter, his rifle trained on a small bowlder several 
 hundred yards down and across the draw. His first shot had 
 been an inexcusable blunder for a marksman like himself 
 and now he had a desperate man and a very capable shot op- 
 posing him. If Buck could hold out until nightfall he could slip 
 away in the darkness and do some stalking on his own account. 
 
 For half an hour they had lain thus, neither daring to take 
 sight. Buck could not leave the shelter of the bowlder because 
 
THE CmSmc OF CASSIDY 9 
 
 the high ground behind him offered no cover; but the hunter, 
 tiring of the fruitless wait, wriggled back into the crevice, arose 
 and slipped away, intending to crawl to the edge of the mesa 
 further down and get in a shot from a new angle before his 
 enemy learned of the shift; and this shot would not be a blunder. 
 He had just lowered himself down a steep wail when the noise 
 of rolling pebbles caused him to look around, expecting to see 
 his friend. Bill was just turning the corner of the wall and 
 their eyes met at the same instant. 
 
 " 'Nds up!" snapped the youth, his Colt glinting as it swung 
 up. The hunter, gripping the rifle firmly, looked into the angry 
 eyes of the other, and slowly obeyed. Bill, watching the rifle in- 
 tently, forthwith learned a lesson he never forgot: never to 
 watch a gun, but the eyes of the man who has it. The left hand 
 of the hunter seemed to melt into smoke, and Bill, firing at the 
 same instant, blundered into a hit when his surprise and care- 
 lessness should have cost him dearly. His bullet, missing its 
 intended mark by inches, struck the still moving Colt of the 
 other, knocking it into the air and numbing the hand that held 
 it. A searing pain in his shoulder told him of the closeness of 
 the call and set his lips into a thin, white line. The hunter, 
 needing no words to interpret the look in the youth's eyes, 
 swiftly raised his hands, holding the rifle high above his head, 
 but neglected to take his finger from the trigger. 
 
 Bill was not overlooking anything now and he noticed the 
 crooked finger. "Stick th' muzzle up, an' pull that trigger," he 
 commanded, sharply. "Now!" he grated. The report came crash- 
 ing back from half a dozen points as he nodded. "Drop it, an' 
 turn 'round." As the other obeyed he stepped cautiously for- 
 ward, jammed his Colt into the hunter's back and took posses- 
 sion of a skinning knife. A few moments later the hunter, trussed 
 securely by a forty-foot lariat, lay cursing at the foot of the 
 rock wall. 
 
10 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Bill, collecting the weapons, went off to cache them and then 
 peered over the mesa's edge to look into the draw. A leaden 
 splotch appeared on the rock almost under his nose and 
 launched a crescendo scream into the sky to whine into silence. 
 He ducked and leaped back, grinning foolishly as he realized 
 Buck's error. Turning to approach the edge from another point 
 he felt his sombrero jerk at his head as another bullet, scream- 
 ing plaintively, followed the first. He dropped like a shot, and 
 commented caustically upon his paucity of brains as he gravely 
 examined the hole in his head gear. "Huh!" he grunted. "I had 
 a fool's luck three times in twenty minutes, — d — if I'm goin' 
 to risk th' next turn. Three of 'em," he repeated. "I'm a' Injun 
 from now on. An' that foreman shore can shoot!" 
 
 He wriggled to the edge and called out, careful not to let 
 any of his anatomy show above the sky-line. "Hey, Buck! I ain't 
 no bufialo hunter! This is Cassidy, who you wanted to punch 
 for you. Savvy?" He listened, and grinned at the eloquent 
 silence. "You talk too rapid," he laughed. Repeating his state- 
 ments he listened again, with the same success. "Now I wonder 
 is he stalkin' me? Hey, Buc\l" he shouted. 
 
 "Stick yore hands up an' foller 'em with yore face," said 
 Buck's voice from below. Bill raised his arms and slowly stood 
 up. "Now what'n blazes do you want?" demanded the foreman, 
 belligerently. 
 
 "Nothin'. Just got them hunters, one of 'em alive. I reckoned 
 mebby you'd sorta like to know it." He paused, cogitating. 
 "Reckon we better turn him loose when we gets back to th' 
 hut," he suggested. "I'll keep his guns," he added, grinning. 
 
 The foreman stuck his head out in sight. "You don't say!" 
 he exclaimed, and sank weakly back against the bowlder. "Can 
 you give me a hand?" he muttered. 
 
 The words did not carry to the youth on the skyline, but he 
 saw, understood, and, slipping and bumping down the steep 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY II 
 
 wall with more speed than sense, dashed across the draw and 
 up the other side. He nodded sagely as he examined the wound 
 and bound it carefully with the sleeve of his own shirt. " 'T 
 ain't much — loss of blood, mostly. Yo're better off than Travis," 
 
 "Travis dead?" whispered Buck. "In th' back! Pore feller, 
 pore feller; didn't have no show. Tell me about it." At the end 
 of the story he nodded. "Yo're all right, Cassidy; yo're a white 
 man. He'd 'a' stood a good chance of gettin' me, 'cept for you." 
 A frown clouded his face and he looked weakly about him as 
 if for an answer to the question that bothered him. "Now what 
 am I goin' to do up here with all these cows?" he muttered. 
 
 Bill rolled the wounded man a cigarette and lit it for him, 
 after which he fell to tossing pebbles at a rock further down 
 che hill. 
 
 "I reckon it will be sorta tough," he replied, slowly. "But I sorta 
 reckoned me an' you, an' that other feller, can make a big 
 ranch out of yore little one. Anyhow, I'll bet we can have a 
 mighty big time tryin'. A mighty fine time. What you think?" 
 
 Buck smiled weakly and shoved out his hand with a visible 
 effort. "We can! Shake, Bill!" he said, contentedly. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 The Weasel 
 
 The winter that followed the coming of Bill Cassidy to the 
 Bar-20 ranch was none too mild to suit the little outfit in the 
 cabin on Snake Creek, but it was not severe enough to cause 
 complaint and they weathered it without trouble to speak of. 
 Down on the big ranges lying closer to the Gulf the winter 
 was so mild as to seem but a brief interruption of summer. It 
 was on this warm, southern range that Skinny Thompson, one 
 bright day of early spring, loped along the trail to Scoria, where 
 he hoped to find his friend. Lanky Smith, and where he deter- 
 mined to put an end to certain rumors that had filtered down 
 to him on the range and filled his days with anger. 
 
 He was within sight of the little cow-town when he met 
 Frank Lewis, but recently returned from a cattle drive. Ex- 
 changing gossip of a harmless nature. Skinny mildly scored his 
 missing friend and complained about his flea-like ability to get 
 scarce. Lewis, laughing, told him that Lanky had left town two 
 days before bound north. Skinny gravely explained that he 
 always had to look after his missing friend, who was childish, 
 irresponsible and helpless when alone. Lewis laughed heartily 
 as he pictured the absent puncher, and he laughed harder as he 
 pictured the two together. Both lean as bean poles. Skinny stood 
 six feet four, while Lanky was fortunate if he topped five feet 
 by many inches. Also they were inseparable, which made Lewis 
 ask a question. "But how does it come you ain't with him?" 
 
 "Well, we was punchin' down south an' has a li'l run-in. 
 When I rid in that night I found he had flitted. What I want 
 
THE WEASEL IJ 
 
 to know is what business has he got, siftin' out like that an* 
 makin' me chase after him?" 
 
 "I dunno," replied Lewis, amused. "You're sort o£ gardjean 
 to him, hey?" 
 
 "Well, he gets sort o£ homesick i£ I ain't with him, anyhow," 
 replied Skinney, grinning broadly. "An' who's goin' to look 
 after him when I ain't around?" 
 
 "That puts me up a tree," replied Lewis. "I shore can't guess. 
 But you two should ought to 'a' been stuck together, like them 
 other twins was. But if he'd do a thing like that I'd think you 
 wouldn't waste no time on him." 
 
 "Well, he is too ornery an' downright cussed for any human 
 bein' to worry about very much, or 'sociate with steady an' 
 reg'lar. Why, lookit him gettin' sore on me, an' for nothin'! 
 But I'm so used to bein' abused I get sort of lost when he ain't 
 around." 
 
 "Well," smiled Lewis, "he's went up north to punch for Buck 
 Peters on his U'l ranch on Snake Creek. If you want to go after 
 him, this is th' way I told him to go," and he gave instructions 
 hopelessly inadequate to anyone not a plainsman. Skinny nod- 
 ded, irritated by what he regarded as the other's painful and 
 unnecessary details and wheeled to ride on. He had started for 
 town when Lewis stopped him with a word. "Hey," he called. 
 Skinny drew rein and looked around. 
 
 "Better ride in cautious like," Lewis remarked, casually. 
 "Somebody was in town when I left — ^he shore was thirsty. He 
 ain't drinkin' a drop, which has riled him considerable. So- 
 long." 
 
 "Huh!" grunted Skinny. "Much obliged. That's one of th' 
 reasons I'm goin' to town," and he started forward again, tight- 
 lipped and grim. 
 
 He rode slowly into Scoria, alert, watching windows, doors 
 and corners, and dismounted before Quigg's saloon, which was 
 
14 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 the really "hightoned" thirst parlor in the town. He noticed that 
 the proprietor had put black shades to the windows and door 
 and then, glancing quickly around, entered. He made straight 
 for the partition in the rear o£ the building, but the proprietor's 
 voice checked him. "You needn't bother, Skinny — there ain't no- 
 body in there; an' I locked th' back door an hour ago." He 
 glanced around the room and added, with studied carelessness: 
 You don't want to get any reckless today." He mopped the bar 
 slowly and coughed apologetically. "Don't get careless." 
 
 "I won't — it's me that's doin' th' hunting today," Skinny re- 
 plied, meaningly. "Him a-hunting for me yesterday, when he 
 shore knowed I wasn't in town, when he knowed he couldn't 
 find me! I was getting good an' tired of him, an' so when Walt 
 rode over to see me last night an' told me what th' coyote was 
 doing yesterday, an' what he was yelling around, I just natch- 
 urly had to straddle leather an' come in. I can't let him put that 
 onto me. Nobody can call me a card cheat an' a coward an' a 
 few other choice things like he did without seeing me, an' see- 
 ing me quick. An' I shore hope he's sober. Are both of 'em 
 in town, Larry?" 
 
 "No; only Dick. But he's making noise enough for two. He 
 shore raised th' devil yesterday." 
 
 "Well, I'm goin' North trailin' Lanky, but before I leave I'm 
 shore goin' to sweeten things around here. If I go away with- 
 out getting him he'll say he scared me out, so I'll have to do 
 it when I come back, anyhow. You see, it might just as well 
 be today. But th' next time I sit in a game with fellers that 
 can't drop fifty dollars without saying they was cheated I'll be 
 a blamed sight bigger fool than I am right now. I shouldn't 'a' 
 taken cards with 'em after what has passed. Why didn't they 
 say they was cheated, then an' there, an' not wait still three days 
 after I left town? All that's bothering me is Sam: if I get his 
 brother when he ain't around, an' then goes North, he'll say I 
 
THE WEASEL 15 
 
 had to jump th' town to get away from him. But I'll stop that 
 by giving him his chance at me when I get back." 
 
 "Say, why don't you wait a day an' get 'em both before you 
 go?" asked Quigg hopefully. 
 
 "Can't: Lanky's got two days' start on me an' I want to catch 
 him soon as I can." 
 
 "I can't get it through my head, nohow," Quigg remarked. 
 "Everybody knows you play square. I reckon they're hard 
 losers." 
 
 Skinny laughed shortly: "Why, can't you see it? Last year I 
 beat Dick Bradley out with a woman over in Ballard. Then his 
 fool brother tried to cut in an' beat me out. Cards? Huh!" he 
 snorted, walking towards the door. "You an' everybody else 
 knows — " he stopped suddenly and jerked his gun loose as a 
 shadow fell across the doorsill. Then he laughed and slapped 
 •the newcomer on the shoulder: "Hullo, Ace, my boy! You had a 
 narrow squeak then. You want to make more noise when you 
 turn corners, unless somebody's looking for you with a gun. 
 How are you, anyhow? An' how's yore dad? I've been going 
 over to see him regular, right along, but I've been so busy I kept 
 putting it o£E." 
 
 "Dad's better. Skinny; an' I'm feeling too good to be true. 
 What'll you have?" 
 
 "Reckon it's my treat; you wet last th' other time. Ain't that 
 right, Quigg? Shore, I knowed it was." 
 
 "All right, here's luck," Ace smiled. "Quigg, that's better 
 stock; an' would you look at th' style — real curtains!" 
 
 Quigg grinned. "Got to have 'em. I'm on th' sunny side of 
 th' street." 
 
 "I hear yo're goin' North," Ace remarked. 
 
 "Yes, I am; but how'd you know about it?" 
 
 "Why, it ain't no secret, is it?" asked Ace in surprise. "If it 
 is, you must 'a' told a woman. I heard of it from th' crowd — 
 
l6 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 everybody seems to know about it. Yo're going up alone, too, 
 ain't you?" 
 
 "Well, no, it ain't no secret; an' I am going alone," slowly 
 replied Skinny. "Here, have another." 
 
 "All right — this is on me. Here's more luck." 
 
 "Where is th' crowd?" 
 
 "Keeping under cover for a while to give you plenty o£ el- 
 bow room," Ace replied. "He's sober as a judge. Skinny, an' 
 mad as a rattler. Swears he'll kill you on sight. An' his brother 
 ain't with him; if he does come in too soon I'll see he don't 
 make it two to one. Good luck, an' so-long," he said quickly, 
 shaking hands and walking towards the door. He put one hand 
 out first and waved it, slowly stepping to the street and then 
 walking rapidly out of sight. 
 
 Skinny looked after him and smiled. "Larry, there's a blamed 
 fine youngster," he remarked, reflectively. "Well, he ought to 
 be — he had th' best mother God ever put breath into." He 
 thought for a moment and then went slowly towards the door. 
 "I've heard so much about Bradley's gun-play that I'm some 
 curious. Reckon I'll see if it's all true — " and he had leaped 
 through the doorway, gun in hand. There was no shot, no sign 
 of his enemy. A group of men lounged in the door of the "hash 
 house" farther down the street, all friends of his, and he nodded 
 to them. One of them turned quickly and looked down the in- 
 tersecting street, saying something that made his companions 
 turn and look with him. The man who had been standing 
 quietly by the corner saloon had disappeared. Skinny smiHng 
 knowingly, moved closer to Quigg's shack so as to be better able 
 to see around the indicated corner, and half drew the Colt 
 which he had just replaced in the holster. As he drew even 
 with the corner of the building he heard Quigg's warning shout 
 and dropped instantly, a bullet singing over him and into a win- 
 
THE WEASEL IJ 
 
 dow of a near-by store. He rolled around the corner, scrambled 
 to his feet and dashed around the rear of the saloon and the 
 corral behind it, crossed the street in four bounds and began 
 to work up behind the buildings on his enemy's side of the 
 street, cold with anger. 
 
 "Pot shooting, hey!" he gritted, savagely. 
 
 "Says I'm a-scared to face him, an' then tries that. There, durn 
 you!" His Colt exploded and a piece of wood sprang from the 
 corner board of Wright's store. "Missed!" he swore. "Anyhow, 
 I've notified you, you coyote." 
 
 He sprang forward, turned the corner of the store and fol- 
 lowed it to the street. When he came to the street end of the 
 wall he leaped past it, his Colt preceding him. Finding no one 
 to dispute with him he moved cautiously towards the other 
 corner and stopped. Giving a quick glance around, he smiled 
 suddenly, for the glass in Quigg's half-open door, with the black 
 curtain behind it, made a fair mirror. He could see the reflec- 
 tion of Wright's corral and Ace leaning against it, ready to 
 handle the brother if he should appear as a belligerent; and he 
 could see along the other side of the store, where Dick Bradley, 
 crouched, was half-way to the street and coming nearer at each 
 slow step. 
 
 Skinny, remembering the shot which he had so narrowly 
 escaped, resolved that he wouldn't take chances with a man 
 who would pot-shoot. He wheeled, slipped back along his side 
 of the building, turned the rear corner and then, spurting, 
 sprang out beyond the other wall, crying: "Here!" 
 
 Bradley, startled, fired under his arm as he leaped aside. Turn- 
 ing while in the air, his half-raised Colt described a swift, short 
 arc and roared as he alighted. As the bullet sang past his 
 enemy's ear he staggered and fell, — and Skinny's smoking gun 
 chocked into its holster. 
 
l8 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "There, you coyote!" muttered the victor. "Yore brother is 
 next if he wants to take it up." 
 
 As night fell Skinny rode into a small grove and prepared 
 to camp there. Picketing his horse, he removed the saddle and 
 dropped it where he would sleep, for a saddle makes a fair 
 pillow. He threw his blanket after it and then started a quick, 
 hot fire for his coffee-making. While gathering fuel for it he 
 came across a large log and determined to use it for his night 
 fire, and for that purpose carried it back to camp with him. It 
 was not long before he had reduced the provisions in his saddle- 
 bags and leaned back against a tree to enjoy a smoke. Suddenly 
 he knocked the ashes from his pipe and grew thoughtful, finally 
 slipping it into his pocket and getting up. 
 
 "That coyote's brother will know I went North an' all about 
 it," he muttered. "He knows I've got to camp tonight an' he 
 can foller a trail as good as th' next man. An' he knows I shot 
 his brother. I reckon, mebby, he'll be some surprised." 
 
 An hour later a blanket-covered figure lay with its carefully 
 covered feet to the fire, and its head, sheltered from the night 
 air by a sombrero, lay on the saddle. A rifle barrel projected 
 above the saddle, the dim flickering light of the greenwood fire 
 and a stray beam or two from the moon glinted from its rust- 
 less surface. The fire was badly constructed, giving almost no 
 light, while the leaves overhead shut out most of the moon- 
 light. 
 
 Thirty yards away, in another clearing, a horse moved about 
 at the end of a lariat and contentedly cropped the rich grass, 
 enjoying a good night's rest. An hour passed, another, and a 
 third and fourth, and then the horse's ears flicked forward as 
 it turned its head to see what approached. 
 
 A crouched figure moved stealthily forward to the edge of 
 
THE WEASEL I9 
 
 the clearing, paused to read the brand on the animal's flank 
 and then moved oil towards the fitful light of the smoking 
 fire. Closer and closer it drew until it made out the indistinct 
 blanketed figure on the ground. A glint from the rifle barrel 
 caused it to shrink back deeper into the shadows and raise the 
 weapon it carried. For half a minute it stood thus and then, 
 holding back the trigger of the rifle so there would be no warn- 
 ing clicks, drew the hammer to a full cock and let the trigger 
 fall into place, slowly moving forward all the while. A passing 
 breeze fanned the fire for an instant and threw the grotesque 
 shadow of a stump across the quiet figure in the clearing. 
 
 The skulker raised his rifle and waited until he had figured 
 out the exact mark and then a burst of fire and smoke leaped 
 into the brush. He bent low to look under the smoke cloud and 
 saw that the figure had not moved. Another flash split the 
 night and then, assured beyond a doubt, he moved forward 
 quickly. 
 
 "First shot!" he exclaimed with satisfaction. "I reckons you 
 won't do no boastin' 'bout killin' Dick, durn you!" 
 
 As he was about to drop to his knees to search the body he 
 started and sprang back, glancing fearfully around as he drew 
 his Colt. 
 
 "Han's up!" came the command from the edge of the clearing 
 as a man stepped into sight. "I reckon — " Skinny leaped aside 
 as the other's gun roared out and fired from his hip; and Sam 
 Bradley plunged across the blanket-covered log and leaves. 
 
 "There," Skinny soliloquized, moving forward. "I knowed 
 they was coyotes, both of 'em. Knowed it all th' time." 
 
 Two days north of Skinny on the bank of Little Wind River 
 a fire was burning itself out, while four men lay on the sand 
 or squatted on their heels and watched it contentedly. "Yes, I 
 got plumb sick of that country," Lanky Smith was saying, "an' 
 
20 THE COMING OF CASSmY 
 
 when Buck sent for me to go up an' help him out, I pulls up, 
 an' here I am." 
 
 "I never heard of th' Bar-20," replied a little, wizened man, 
 whose eyes were so bright they seemed to be on fire. "Didn't 
 know there was any ranches in that country." 
 
 "Buck's got th' only one," responded Lanky, packing his 
 pipe. "He's located on Snake Creek, an' he's got four thousand 
 head. Reckon there ain't nobody within two hundred mile of 
 him. Lewis said he's got a fine range an' all th' water he can 
 use; but three men can't handle all them cows in that country, 
 so I'm goin' up." 
 
 The Uttle man's eyes seldom left Lanky's face, and he seemed 
 to be studying the stranger very closely. When Lanky had rid- 
 den upon their noon-day camp the little man had not lost a 
 movement that the stranger made and the other two, disappear- 
 ing quietly, returned a little later and nodded reassuringly to 
 their leader. 
 
 The wizened leader glanced at one of his companions, but 
 spoke to Lanky. "George, here, said as how they finally got 
 Butch Lynch. You didn't hear nothin' about it, did you?" 
 
 "They was a rumor down on Mesquite range that Butch was 
 got. I heard his gang was wiped out. Well, it had to come some- 
 time — ^he was carryin' things with a purty high hand for a long 
 time. But I've done heard that before; more'n once, too. I reckon 
 Butch is a li'l too slick to get hisself killed." 
 , "Ever see him?" asked George carelessly. 
 
 "Never; an' don't want to. If them fellers can't clean their 
 own range an' pertect their own cows, I ain't got no call to 
 edge in." 
 
 "He's only a couple of inches taller'n Jim," observed the third 
 man, glancing at his leader, "an' about th' same build. But he's 
 fast on th' shoot. I saw him twice, but I was mindin' my own 
 business." 
 
THE WEASEL 21 
 
 Lanky nodded at die leader. "That'd make him about as tall 
 as me. Size don't make no dif 'rence no more — King Colt makes 
 'em look all alike." 
 
 Jim tossed away his cigarette and arose, stretching and grunt- 
 ing. "I shore ate too much," he complained. "Well, there's one 
 thing about yore friend's ranch: he ain't got no rustlers to fight, 
 so he ain't as bad ofl as he might be. I reckon he done named 
 that crick hisself, didn't he? I never heard tell of it." 
 
 "Yes; so Lewis says. He says he'd called it Split Mesa Crick, 
 'cause it empties into Mesa River plumb acrost from a big mesa 
 what's split in two as clean as a knife could 'a' done it." 
 
 "The Bar-2o expectin' you?" casually asked Jim as he picked 
 up his saddle. 
 
 "Shore; they done sent for me. Me an' Buck is old friends. 
 He was up in Montana ranchin' with a pardner, but Slippery 
 Trendley kills his pardner's wife an' drove th' feller loco. Buck 
 an' him hunted Slippery for two years an' finally drifted back 
 south again. I dunno where Frenchy is. If it wasn't for me I 
 reckon Buck'd still be on th' warpath. You bet he's expectin' 
 me!" He turned and threw his saddle on the evil-tempered 
 horse he rode and, cinching deftly, slung himself up by the 
 stirrup. As he struck the saddle there was a sharp report and he 
 pitched off and sprawled grotesquely on the sand. The httle 
 man peered through the smoke and sHd his gun back into the 
 holster. He turned to his companions, who looked on idly and 
 with but little interest. "Yo're shore right Butch Lynch is too 
 slick to get killed. I ain't takin' no chances with nobody that 
 rides over my trail these days. An', boys, I got a great scheme! 
 It comes to me Hke a flash when he's talkin'. Come on, pull out; 
 an' don't open yore traps till I says so. I want to figger this thing 
 out to th' last card. George, shoot his cay use; an' not another 
 sound." 
 
22 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "But that's a good cayuse; worth easy — " 
 
 "Shoot it!" shouted Jim, his eyes snapping. It was unnecessary 
 to add the alternative, for George and his companion had great 
 respect for the Ughtning-hke, deadly-accurate gun hands. He 
 started to draw, but was too late. The crashing report seemed 
 to come from the leader's holster, so quick had been the 
 draw, and the horse sank slowly down, but unobserved. Two 
 pairs of eyes asked a question of the little man and he sneered 
 in reply as he lowered the gun. "It might 'a' been you. Here- 
 after do what I say. Now, go on ahead, an' keep quiet." 
 
 After riding along in silence for a little while the leader 
 looked at his companions and called one of them to him. 
 "George, this job is too big for the three of us; we can handle 
 the ranch end, but not the drive. You know where Longhorn 
 an' his bunch are holdin' out on th' Tortilla? All right; I've 
 got a proposition for 'em, an' yoy are goin' up with it. It won't 
 take you so long if you wake up an' don't loaf like you have 
 been. Now you listen close, an' don't forget a word": and the 
 little man shared the plan he had worked out, much to his 
 companion's delight. Having made the messenger repeat it, the 
 little man waved him ofl: "Get a-goin'; you bust some records 
 or I'll bust you, savvy ? Charley'll wait for you at that Split Mesa 
 that fool puncher was a-talkin' about. An' don't you ride no- 
 wheres near it goin' up — keep to th' east of it. So-long!" 
 
 He watched the departing horseman swing in and pass 
 Charley and saw the playful blow and counter. He smiled toler- 
 antly as their words came back to him, George's growing fainter 
 and fainter and Charley's louder and louder until they rang 
 in his ears. The smile changed subtly and cynicism touched 
 his face and lingered for a moment. "Fine, big bodies — nothing 
 else," he muttered. "Big children, with children's heads. A little 
 courage, if steadied; but what a paucity of brains! Good gosh, 
 what a paucity of brains; what a lack of original thought!" 
 
THE WEASEL 23 
 
 Of some localities it is said their inhabitants do not die, but 
 dry up and blow away; this, so far as appearances went, seemed 
 true of the horseman who loped along the north bank of Snake 
 Creek, only he had not arrived at the "blow away" period. No 
 one would have guessed his age as forty, for his leathery, wrin- 
 kled skin, thin, sun-bleached hair and wizened body justified 
 a guess of sixty. A shrewd observer looking him over would find 
 about the man a subtle air of potential destruction, which might 
 have been caused by the way he wore his guns. A second look 
 and the observer would turn away oppressed by a disquieting 
 feeling that evaded analysis by lurking annoy ingly just beyond 
 the horizon of thought. But a man strong in intuition would 
 not have turned away; he would have backed off, alert and 
 tense. Nearing a corral which loomed up ahead, he pulled rein 
 and went on at a walk, his brilliant eyes searching the sur- 
 roundings with a thoroughness that missed nothing. 
 
 Buck Peters was complaining as he loafed for a precious half 
 hour in front of the corral, but Red Connors and Bill Cassidy, 
 his "outfit," discussed the low prices cattle were selling for, the 
 over-stocked southern ranges and the crash that would come to 
 the more heavily mortgaged ranches when the market broke. 
 This was a golden opportunity to stock the little ranch, and 
 Buck was taking advantage of it. But their foreman persisted 
 in telHng his troubles and finally, out of politeness, they 
 listened. The burden of the foreman's plaint was the non-ap- 
 pearance of one Lanky Smith, an old friend. When the second 
 herd had been delivered several weeks before. Buck, failing 
 to persuade one of the drive outfit to remain, had asked the 
 trail boss to send up Lanky, and the trail boss had promised. 
 
 Red stretched and yawned. "Mebby, he's lost th' way." 
 
 The foreman snorted. "He can f oiler a plain trail, can't he? 
 An' if he can ride past Split Mesa, he's a bigger fool than I 
 ever heard of." 
 
24 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Well, mebby he got drunk an — " 
 
 "He don't get that drunk." Astonishment killed whatever else 
 he might have said, for a stranger had ridden around the corral 
 and sat smiling at the surprise depicted on the faces of the 
 three. 
 
 Buck and Red, too surprised to speak, smiled foolishly; Bill, 
 also wordless, went upon his toes and tensed himself for that 
 speed which had given to him hands never beaten on the draw. 
 The stranger glanced at him, but saw nothing more than the 
 level gaze that searched his squinting eyes for the soul back 
 of them. The squint increased and he made a mental note 
 concerning Bill Cassidy, which Bill Cassidy already had done 
 regarding him. 
 
 "I'm called Tom Jayne," drawled the stranger. "I'm lookin* 
 for Peters." 
 
 "Yes?" inquired Buck restlessly. "I'm him.'* 
 
 "Lewis sent me up to punch for you." 
 
 "You plumb surprised us," replied Buck. "Wc don't see no- 
 body up here." 
 
 "Reckon not," agreed Jayne smiHng. "I ain't been pestered 
 a hull lot by th' inhabitants on my way up. I reckon there's 
 more buffalo than men in this country." 
 
 Buck nodded. "An' blamed few buffalo, too. But Lewis didn't 
 say nothin' about Lanky Smith, did he?" 
 
 "Yes; Smith, he goes up in th' Panhandle for to be a foreman. 
 Lewis missed him. Th' Panhandle must be purty nigh as crowd- 
 ed as this country, I reckon," he smiled. 
 
 "Well," replied Buck, "anybody Lewis sends up is good 
 enough for me. I'm payin' forty a month. Some day I'll pay 
 more, if I'm able to an' it's earned." 
 
 jayne nodded. "I'm aimin' to be here when th' pay is raised; 
 an' I'll earn it." 
 
 "Then shake ban's with Red an' Bill, an' come with me," 
 
THE WEASEL 25 
 
 said Buck. He led the way to the dugout, Bill and Red look- 
 ing after him and the little newcomer. Red shook his head. "I 
 dunno," he soliloquized, his eyes on the recruit's guns. They 
 were worn low on the thighs, and the lower ends of the holsters 
 were securely tied to the trousers. They were low enough to 
 have the butts even with the swinging hands, so that no time 
 would have to be wasted in reaching for them; and the sheaths 
 were tied down, so they would not cling to the guns and come 
 up with them on the draw. Bill wore his guns the same way 
 for the same reasons. Red glanced at his friend. "He's a queer 
 li'l cuss. Bill," he suggested. Receiving no reply, he grinned and 
 tried again. "I said as how he's a queer li'l cuss." Bill stirred. 
 "Huh?" he muttered. Red snorted. "Why, I says he's a drunk 
 Injun mendin' socks. What in blazes you reckon I'd say!" 
 
 "Oh, somethin' like that; but you should 'a' said he's a — a 
 weasel. A cold-blooded, ferocious li'l rat that'd kill for th' joy 
 of it," and Bill moved leisurely to rope his horse. 
 
 Red looked after him, cogitating deeply. "Cussed if I hadn't, 
 too! An' so he's a two-gun man, like Bill. Wears 'em plumb 
 low an' tied. Yessir, he's a shore 'nufiE weasel, all right." He 
 turned and watched Bill riding away and he grinned as two 
 pictures came to his mind. In the first he saw a youth en- 
 veloped in swirling clouds of acrid smoke as two Colts flashed 
 and roared with a speed incredible; in the second there was no 
 smoke, only the flashing of hands and the cold glitter of steel, 
 so quick as to baffle the eye. And even now Bill practiced the 
 draw, which pleased the foreman; cartridges were hard to get 
 and cost money. Red roped his horse and threw on the saddle. 
 As he swung off toward his section of the range he shook his 
 head and scowled. 
 
 The Weasel had the eastern section, the wildest part of the 
 ranch. It was cut and seared by arroyos, barrancas and draws; 
 covered with mesquite and chaparral and broken by hills and 
 
26 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 mesas. The cattle on it were lost in the chaotic roughness and 
 heavy vegetation and only shov^ed themselves when they strug- 
 gled down to the river or the creek to drink. A thousand head 
 were supposed to be under his charge, but ten times that num- 
 ber would have been but a little more noticeable. He quickly 
 learned ways of riding from one end of the section to the other 
 without showing himself to anyone who might be a hundred 
 yards from any point of the ride; he learned the best grazing 
 portions and the safest trails from them to the ford opposite 
 Split Mesa. 
 
 He was very careful not to show any interest in Split Hill 
 Canyon and hardly even looked at it for the first week; then 
 George returned from his journey and reported favorably. He 
 also, with Longhorn's assistance, had picked out and learned 
 a good drive route, and it was decided then and there to start 
 things moving in earnest. 
 
 There were two thousand unbranded cattle on the ranch, 
 the entire second drive herd; most of these were on the south 
 section under Bill Cassidy, and the remainder were along the 
 river. The Weasel learned that most of Bill's cows preferred 
 the river to the creek and crossed his section to get there. That 
 few returned was due, perhaps, to their preference for the east- 
 ern pasture. In a week the Weasel found the really good graz- 
 ing portions of his section feeding more cows than they could 
 keep on feeding; but suddenly the numbers fell to the pastures' 
 capacity, without adding a head to Bill's herd. 
 
 Then came a day when Red had been riding so near the 
 Weasel's section that he decided to go on down and meet him 
 as he rode in for dinner. When Red finally caught sight of 
 him the Weasel was riding slowly toward the bunkhouse, buried 
 in thought. When his two men had returned from their scout- 
 ing trip and reported the best way to drive, his and their work 
 had begun in earnest. One small herd had been driven north 
 
THE WEASEL 27 
 
 and turned over to friends not far away, who took charge of 
 the herd for the rest of the drive while the Weasel's companions 
 returned to Split Hill. 
 
 Day after day he had noticed the diminishing number of 
 cows on his sections, which was ideally created by nature to 
 hide such a deficit, but from now on it would require all his 
 cleverness and luck to hide the losses and he would be so busy 
 shifting cattle that the rustling would have to ease up. One thing 
 bothered him: Bill Cassidy was getting very suspicious, and he 
 was not altogether satisfied that it was due to rivalry in gun- 
 play. He was so deeply engrossed in this phase of the situation 
 that he did not hear Red approaching over the soft sand and 
 before Red could make his presence known something occurred 
 that made him keep silent. 
 
 The Weasel, jarred by his horse, which shied and reared with 
 a vigor and suddenness its rider believed entirely unwarranted 
 under the circumstances, grabbed the reins in his left hand and 
 jerked viciously, while his right, a blur of speed, drew and fired 
 the heavy Colt with such deadly accuracy that the offending 
 rattler's head dropped under its writhing, glistening coils, sev- 
 ered clean. 
 
 Red backed swiftly behind a chaparral and cogitated, shaking 
 his head slowly. "Funny how bashful these gun-artists are!" he 
 muttered. "Now has he been layin' for big bets, or was he — ?" 
 the words ceased, but the thoughts ran on and brought a scowl 
 to Red's face as he debated the question. 
 
 The following day, a little before noon, two men stopped with 
 sighs of rehef at the corral and looked around. The little man 
 riding the horse smiled as he glanced at his tall companion. 
 
28 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "You won't have to hoof it no more, Skinny," he said gladly. 
 "It's been a' awful experience for both of us, but you had th' 
 worst end." '^i, 
 
 "Why, you stubborn li'l fool!" retorted Skinny. "I can walk 
 back an' do it all over again!" He helped his companion down, 
 stripped off the saddle and turned the animal loose with a re- 
 sounding slap. "Huh!" he grunted as it kicked up its heels. "You 
 oughta feel frisky, after loafin' for two weeks an' walkin' for 
 another. Come on. Lanky," he said, turning. "There ain't no- 
 body home, so we'll get a fire goin' an' rustle chuck for all 
 ban's." 
 
 They entered the dugout and looked around. Lanky sitting 
 down to rest. His companion glanced at the mussed bunks and 
 started a fire to get dinner for six. "Mebby they don't ride in 
 at noon," suggested the convalescent. "Then we'll eat it all," 
 grinned the cook. "It's comin' to us by this time." 
 
 The Weasel, riding toward the rear wall of the dugout, in- 
 creased the pace when he saw the smoke pouring out of the 
 chimney, but as he neared the hut he drew suddenly and 
 listened, his expression of incredulity followed by one of amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 A hearty laugh and some shouted words sent him spinning 
 around and back to the chaparral. As soon as he dared he 
 swung north to the creek and risked its quicksands to ride down 
 its middle. Reaching the river he still kept to the water until 
 he had crossed the ford and scrambled up the further bank to 
 become lost in the windings of the canyon. 
 
 Very soon after the Weasel's departure Buck dismounted at 
 the corral and stopped to listen. "Strangers," he muttered. "Glad 
 they got th' fire goin', anyhow." Walking to the hut he entered 
 and a yell met him at the instant recognition. 
 
 "Hullo, Buck!" 
 
 "Lanky!" he cried, leaping forward. 
 
THE WEASEL 29 
 
 "Easy!" cautioned the convalescent, evading the hand. "I've 
 been all shot up an' I ain't right yet." 
 
 "That so! How'd it happeff?" 
 
 "Shake han's with Skinny Thompson, my fool nurse," laughed 
 Lanky. 
 
 "I'm a fool, all right, helpin' him," grinned Skinny, gripping 
 the hand. "But when I picks him up down in th' Li'l Wind 
 River country I was a' angel. Looked after him for two weeks 
 down there, an' put in another gettin' up here. Served him right, 
 too, for runnin' away from me." 
 
 "Little Wind Kiver country!" exclaimed Buck. "Why, I 
 thought you was a foreman in th' Panhandle." 
 
 "Foreman nothin'," replied Lanky, "I was shot up by a li'l 
 runt of a rustler an' left to die two hundred mile from no- 
 where. I wasn't expectin' no gun-play." 
 
 "He's ridin' up here," explained Skinny. "Meets three fellers 
 an' gets friendly. They learns his business, an' drops him sudden 
 when he's mountin'. Butch Lynch did th' shootin'. Butch got his 
 name butcherin' th' law. He couldn't make a livin' at it. Then 
 he got chased out of New Mexico for bein' mixed up in a 
 freelove sect, an' pulls for Chicago. He reckoned he owned th' 
 West, so he drifts down here again an' turns rustler. I dunno 
 why he plugs Lanky, less'n he thinks Lanky knows him an' 
 might try to hand him over. I'm honin' for to meet Butch." 
 
 Buck looked from one to the other in amazment, suspicion 
 raging in his mind. "Why, I heard you went to th' Panhandle!" 
 he ejaculated. 
 
 Skinny grinned: "A fine foreman he'd make, less'n for a 
 hawg ranch!" 
 "Who told you that?" demanded Lanky, with sudden interest. 
 "Th' feller Lewis sent up in yore place." 
 "What?" shouted both in one voice, and Lanky gave a terse 
 description of Butch Lynch. "That him?" 
 
30 THE COMING OF CASSmY 
 
 "That's him," answered Buck. "But he was alone. He'll be in 
 soon, 'long with Bill an' Red — which way did you come.?" he 
 demanded eagerly. "Why, that was through his section — ^bet he 
 saw you an' pulled out!" 
 
 Skinny reached for his rifle: "I'm goin' to see," he remarked. 
 
 "I'm with you," rephed Buck. 
 
 "Me, too," asserted Lanky, but he was pushed back. 
 
 "You stay here," ordered Buck. "He might ride in. An' you've 
 got to send Bill an' Red after us." 
 
 Lanky growled, but obeyed, and trained his rifle on the door. 
 But the only man he saw was Red, whose exit was prompt 
 when he had learned the facts. 
 
 Down on the south section Bill, unaware of the trend of 
 events, looked over the little pasture that nestled between the 
 hills and wondered where the small herd was. Up to within 
 the last few days he always had found it here, loath to leave 
 the heavy grass and the trickling spring, and watched over by 
 "Old Mosshead," a very pugnacious steer. He scowled as he 
 looked east and shook his head. "Bet they're crowdin' on th' 
 Weasel's section, too. Reckon I'll go over and look into it. He'll 
 be passin' remarks about th' way I ride sign." But he reached 
 the river without being rewarded by the sight of many of the 
 missing cows and he became pugnaciously inquisitive. He had 
 searched in vain for awhile when he paused and glanced up 
 the river, catching sight of a horseman who was pushing across 
 at the ford. "Now, what's th' Weasel doin' over there?" he 
 growled. "An' what's his hurry? I never did put no trust in 
 him an' I'm going to see what's up." 
 
 Not far behind him a tall, lean man peered over the grass- 
 fringed bank of a draw and watched him cross the river and 
 disappear over the further bank. "Huh!" muttered Skinny, 
 riding forward toward the river. "That might be one of Peter's 
 punchers; but I'll trail him to make shore." 
 
THE WEASEL 3I 
 
 Down the river Red watched Bill cross the stream and then 
 saw a stranger follow. "Look athere!" he growled, pushing 
 on. "That's one o£ 'em trailin' Bill!" and he, in turn, forded 
 the river, hot on the trail of the stranger. 
 
 Bill finally dismounted near the mesa, proceeded on foot to 
 the top of the nearest rise, and looked down into the canyon 
 at a point where it widened into a circular basin half a mile 
 across. Dust was arising in thin clouds as the missing cows, 
 rounded up by three men, constantly increased the rustlers' 
 herd. To the northwest lay the mesa, where the canyon nar- 
 rowed to wind its tortuous way through; to the southeast lay 
 the narrow gateway, where the towering, perpendicular cliffs 
 began to melt into the sloping sides of hills and changed the 
 canyon into a swiftly widening valley. The sight sent the 
 puncher running toward the pass, for the herd had begun to 
 move toward that outlet, urged by the Weasel and his nervous 
 companions. 
 
 Back in the hills Skinny was disgusted and called himself 
 names. To lose a man in less than a minute after trailing him 
 for an hour was more than his sensitive soul could stand without 
 protest. Bill had disappeared as completely as if he had taken 
 wings and flown away. The disgusted trailer, dropping to all- 
 fours because of his great height, went ahead, hoping to blunder 
 upon the man he had lost. 
 
 Back of him was Red, whose grin was not so much caused 
 by Skinny's dilemma, which he had sensed instantly, as it was 
 by the inartistic spectacle Skinny's mode of locomotion presentd 
 to the man behind. There was humor a-plenty in Red's make-up 
 and the germ of mischief in his soul was always alert and will- 
 ing; his finger itched to pull the trigger, and the grin spread as 
 he pondered over the probable antics of the man ahead if he 
 should be suddenly grazed by a bullet from the rear. "Bet he'd 
 
32 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 go right up on his head an' kick," Red chuckled — and it took 
 all his will power to keep from experimenting. Then, suddenly, 
 Skinny disappeared, and Red's fretful nature clawed at his 
 tropical vocabulary with great success. It was only too true — 
 Skinny had become absolutely lost, and the angry Bar-20 
 puncher crawled furiously this way and that without success, 
 until Skinny gave him a hot clew that stung his face with grit 
 and pebbles. He backed, sneezing, around a rock and wrestled 
 with his dignity. Skinny, holed up not far from the canyon's 
 rim, was throwing a mental fit and calling himself outrageous 
 names. "An' he's been trailin' me! Heck of a fine fool / am; I'm 
 awful smart today, / am! I done gave up my teethin' ring too 
 soon, / did." He paused and scratched his head reflectively. "Huh! 
 This is some populous region, an' th' inhabitants have pe-culiar 
 ways. Now I wonder who's trailin' him.? I'm due to get cross- 
 eyed if I try to stalk 'em both." 
 
 A bullet, fired from an unexpected direction, removed the 
 skin from the tip of Skinny 's nose and sent a shock jarring clean 
 through him., "Is that him, th' other feller, or somebody else?" 
 he fretfully pondered, raising his hand to the crimson spot in the 
 center of his face. He did not rub it — ^he rubbed the air im- 
 mediately in front of it, and was careful to make no mistake in 
 distance. The second bullet struck a rock just outside the gully 
 and caromed over his head with a scream of baffled rage. He 
 shrunk, lengthwise and side wise, wishing he were not so long; 
 but he kept on wriggling, backward. "Not enough English," he 
 muttered. "Thank th' Lord he can't masse!" 
 
 The firing put a different aspect on things down in the basin. 
 The Weasel crowded the herd into the gap too suddenly and 
 caused a bad jam, while his companions, slipping away among 
 the bowlders and thickets, worked swiftly but cautiously up the 
 cliff by taking advantage of the crevices and seams that scored 
 
THE WEASEL 33 
 
 the wall. Climbing like goats, they slipped over the top and be- 
 gan a game of hide and seek over the bowlder strewn, chaparral- 
 covered plateau to cover the Weasel, who worked, without cover 
 oi any kind, in the basin. 
 
 Red was deep in some fine calculations of angles when his 
 sombrero slid off his head and displayed a new hole, which 
 ogled at him with Cyclopean ferocity. He ducked, and shat- 
 tered all existing records for the crawl, stopping finally when 
 he had covered twenty yards and collected many thorns and 
 bruises. He had worked close to the edge of the cliff and as 
 he turned to circle back of his enemy he chanced to glance over 
 the rim, swore angrily and fired. The Weasel, saving himself 
 from being pinned under his stricken horse, leaped for the 
 shelter of the cover near the foot of the basin's wall. Red was 
 about to fire again when he swayed and slipped down behind 
 a bowlder. The rustler, twenty yards away, began to maneuver 
 for another shot when Skinny 's rifle cracked viciously and the 
 cattle thief, staggering to the edge of the cliff, stumbled, fought 
 for his balance, and plunged down into the basin. His com- 
 panion, crawling swiftly toward Skinny's smoke, showed him- 
 self long enough for Red to swing his rifle and shoot offhand. 
 At that moment Skinny caught sight of him and believed he 
 understood the situation. "You Conners or Cassidy?" he de- 
 manded over the sights. Red's answer made him leap forward 
 and in a few moments the wounded man, bandaged and sup- 
 ported by his new friend, hobbled to the rim of the basin in 
 time to see the last act of the tragedy. 
 
 The gateway, now free of cattle, lay open and the Weasel 
 dashed for it in an attempt to gain the horses picketed on the 
 other side. He had seen George plunge off the cliff and knew 
 that the game was up. As he leaped from his cover Skinny's 
 head showed over the rim of the cliff and his bullet sang shrilly 
 
34 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 over the rustler's head. The second shot was closer, but before 
 Skinny could try again Red's warning cry made him lower 
 the rifle and stare at the gateway. 
 
 The Weasel saw it at the same time, slowed to a rapid walk, 
 but kept on for the pass, his eyes riveted malevolently on the 
 youth who had suddenly arisen from behind a bowlder and 
 started to meet him. 
 
 "It's easy to get him now," growled Skinny, starting to raise 
 the rifle, a picture of Lanky's narrow escape coming to his 
 mind. 
 
 "Bill's right in line," whispered Red, leaning forward tensely 
 and robbing his other senses to strengthen sight. "They're th* 
 best in th' Southwest," he breathed. 
 
 Below them Bill and the Weasel calmly advanced, neither 
 hurried nor touching a gun. Sixty yards separated them — ^fifty — 
 forty — thirty — "Gosh A'mighty!" whispered Skinny, his nails 
 cutting into his calloused palms. Red only quivered. Twenty- 
 five — twenty. Then the Weasel slowed down, crouching a little 
 and his swinging hands kept closer to his thighs. Bill, though 
 moving slowly, stood erect and did not change his pace. Per- 
 spiration beaded the faces of the watchers on the cliff and they 
 almost stopped breathing. This was worse than they had ex- 
 pected — forty yards would have been close enough to start shoot- 
 ing. "It's a pure case of speed now," whispered Red, suddenly 
 understanding. The promised lesson was due — the lesson the 
 Weasel had promised to give Bill on the draw. Accuracy de- 
 liberately was being eliminated by that cold-blooded advance. 
 Fifteen yards — ten — eight — six — five — and a flurry of smoke. 
 There had been no movement to the eyes of the watchers — 
 just smoke, and the flat reports, that came to them like two 
 beats of a snare drum's roll. Then they saw Bill step back as 
 the Weasel pitched forward. He raised his eyes to meet them 
 
THE WEASEL 35 
 
 and nodded. "Come on, get th' cayuses. We gotta round up 
 th' herd afore it scatters," he shouted. 
 
 Red leaned against Skinny and laughed senselessly. "Ain't he 
 a cussed fool?" 
 
 Skinny stirred and nodded. "He shore is; but come on. I 
 don't want no argument with him." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Jimmy Price 
 
 On a range far to the north, Jimmy Price, a youth as time 
 measures age, followed the barranca's edge and whistled cheer- 
 fully. He had never heard of the Bar-20, and would have showed 
 no interest if he had heard of it, so long as it lay so far away. 
 He was abroad in search of adventure and work, and while his 
 finances were almost at ebb tide he had youth, health, courage 
 and that temperament that laughs at hard luck and believes in 
 miracles. The tide was so low it must turn soon and work would 
 be forthcoming when he needed it. Sitting in the saddle with 
 characteristic erectness he loped down a hill and glanced at the 
 faint trail that led into the hills to the west. Cogitating a mo- 
 ment he followed it and soon saw a cow, and soon after others. 
 
 "I'll round up th' ranch house, get a job for awhile an' then 
 drift on south again," he thought, and the whistle rang out 
 with renewed cheerfulness. 
 
 He noticed that the trail kept to the low ground, skirting even 
 litde hills and showing marked preference for arroyos and draws 
 with but little regard, apparently, for direction or miles. He had 
 just begun to cross a small pasture between two hills when a 
 sharp voice asked a question: "Where you goin'?" 
 
 He wheeled and saw a bewhiskered horseman sitting quietly 
 behind a thicket. The stranger held a rifle at the ready and was 
 examining him critically. "Where you goin'?" repeated the 
 stranger, ominously. "An' what's yore business?" 
 
 Jimmy bridled at the other's impudent curiosity and the tones 
 in which it was voiced, and as he looked the stranger over a 
 
 36 
 
JIMMY PRICE 37 
 
 contemptuous smile flickered about his thin lips. "Why, I'm 
 goin' west, an' I'm lookin' for th' sunset," he answered with an 
 exasperating drawl. "Ain't seen it, have you?" 
 
 The other's expression remained unchanged, as i£ he had not 
 heard the flippant and pugnacious answer. "Where you goin* 
 an' what for?" he demanded again. 
 
 Jimmy turned further around in the saddle and his eyes 
 narrowed. "I'm goin' to mind my own business, because it's 
 healthy," he retorted. "You th' President, or only a king?" he 
 demanded, sarcastically. 
 
 "I'm boss of Tortilla range," came the even reply. "You 
 answer my question." 
 
 "Then you can gimme a job an' save me a lot of fool ridin'," 
 smiled Jimmy. "It'll be some experience workin' for a sour 
 dough as ornery as you are. Fifty per, an' all th' rest of it. 
 Where do I eat an' sleep?" 
 
 The stranger gazed steadily at the cool, impudent youngster, 
 who returned the look with an ironical smile. "Who sent you 
 out here?" he demanded with blunt directness. 
 
 "Nobody," smiled Jimmy. "Nobody sends me nowhere, never, 
 'less 'n I want to go. Purty near time to eat, ain't it?" 
 
 "Come over here," commanded the Boss of Tortilla range. 
 
 "It's closer from you to me than from me to you." 
 
 "Yo're some sassy, now ain't you? I've got a notion to drop 
 you an' save somebody else th' job." 
 
 "He'll be lucky if you do, 'cause when that gent drifts along 
 I'm natchurally goin' to get there first. It's been tried already." 
 
 Anger glinted in the Boss's eyes, but slowly faded as a grim 
 smile fought its way into view. "I've a mind to give you a job 
 just for th' great pleasure of bustin' yore spirit." 
 
 "If yo're bettin' on that card you wants to have a copper 
 handy," bantered Jimmy. "It's awful fatal when it's played 
 to win." 
 
38 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "What's yore name, you cub?'* 
 
 "Elijah — ain't I done prophesied? When do I start punchin' 
 yore eight cows, Boss?" 
 
 "Right now! I Hke yore infernal gall; an' there's a pleasant 
 time comin' when I starts again' that spirit." 
 
 "Then my name's Jimmy, which is enough for you to know. 
 Which cow do I punch first?" he grinned. 
 
 "You ride ahead along th' trail. I'll show you where you eat," 
 smiled the Boss, riding toward him. 
 
 Jimmy's face took on an expression of innocence that was 
 ludicrous. 
 
 "I alius let age go first," he slowly responded. "I might get 
 lost if I lead. I'm plumb polite, I am." 
 
 The Boss looked searchingly at him and the smile faded. 
 "What you mean by that?" 
 
 "Just what I said. I'm plumb polite, and hereby provin' it. I 
 alius insist on bein' polite. Otherwise, gimme my month's pay 
 an' I'll resign. But I'm shore some puncher," he laughed. 
 
 "I observed yore politeness. I'm surprised you even know th' 
 term. But are you shore you won't get lost if you f oiler me?" 
 asked the Boss with great sarcasm. 
 
 "Oh, that's a chance I gotta take," Jimmy replied as his new 
 employer drew uo alongside. "Anyhow, yo're better lookin' from 
 behind." 
 
 "Jimmy, my lad," observed the Boss, sorrowfully shaking his 
 head, "I shore sympathize with th' shortness of yore sweet, 
 young life. Somebody's natchurally goin' to spread you all over 
 some dismal landscape one of these days." 
 
 "An' he'll be a whole lot lucky if I ain't around when he 
 tries it," grinned Jimmy. "I got a' awful temper when I'm riled, 
 an' I reckons that would rile me up quite a lot." 
 
 The Boss laughed softly and pushed on ahead, Jimmy flush- 
 ing a little from shame of his suspicions. But a hundred yards 
 
JIMMY PRICE 39 
 
 behind him, riding noiselessly on the sand and grass, was a man 
 who had emerged from another thicket when he saw the Boss 
 go ahead; and he did not for one instant remove his eyes from 
 the new member of the outfit. Jimmy, due to an uncanny in- 
 stinct, soon realized it, though he did not look around. "Huh! 
 Reckon I'm th' meat in this sandwich. Say, Boss, who's th' 
 Injun ridin' behind me?" he asked. 
 
 "That's Longhorn. Look out or he'll gore you," repUed the 
 Boss. 
 
 " 'That'd be a bloody shame,' as th' Englishman said. Are all 
 his habits as pleasant an' sociable?" 
 
 "They're mostly worse; he's a two-gun man." 
 
 "Now ain't that lovely! Wonder what he'd do if I scratch 
 my laig sudden?" 
 
 "Let me know ahead of time, so I can get out of th' way. 
 If you do that it'll save me fifty dollars an' a lot of worry." 
 
 "Huh! I won't save it for you. But I wish I could get out 
 my smokin' what's in my hip pocket, without Longhorn gam- 
 blin' on th' move." 
 
 The next day Jimmy rode the west section harassed by many 
 emotions. He was weaponless, much to his chagrin and rage. 
 He rode a horse that was such a ludicrous excuse that it made 
 escape out of the question, and they even locked it in the corral 
 at night. He was always under the eyes of a man who believed 
 him ignorant of the surveillance. He always knew that three 
 different brands of cattle "belonged" to the "ranch," and his 
 meager experience was sufficient to acquaint him with a blotted 
 brand when the work had been carelessly done. The Boss was 
 the foreman and his outfit, so far as Jimmy knew, consisted of 
 Brazo Charley and Longhorn, both of whom worked nights. 
 The smiUng explanation of the Boss, when Jimmy's guns had 
 been locked up, he knew to be only part truth. "Yo're so plumb 
 fighty we dassn't let you have 'em," the Boss had said. "If we 
 
40 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 got to bust yore high-strung, unlovely spirit without killin* you, 
 you can't have no guns. An' th' corral gate is shore pad- 
 locked, so keep th' cayuse I gave you." 
 
 Jimmy, enraged, sprang forward to grab at his gun, but Long- 
 horn, dexterously tripping him, leaned against the wall and 
 grinned evilly as the angry youth scrambled to his feet. "Easy, 
 Kid," remarked the gun-man, a Colt swinging carelessly in his 
 hand. "You'll get as you give," he grunted. "Mind yore own 
 affairs an' work, an' we'll treat you right. Otherwise — " the 
 shrugging shoulders made further explanations unnecessary. 
 
 Jimmy looked from one to the other and silently wheeled, 
 gained the decrepit horse and rode out to his allotted range, 
 where he saturated the air with impotent profanity. Chancing 
 to look back he saw a steer wheel and face the south; and at 
 other times during the day he saw that repeated by other cattle 
 — nor was this the only signs of trailing. Having nothing to do 
 but ride and observe the cattle, which showed no desire to stray 
 beyond the range allotted to them, he observed very thoroughly; 
 and when he rode back to the bunkhouse that night he had deci- 
 phered the original brand on his cows and also the foundation 
 for that worn by Brazo Charley's herd on the section next to 
 him. "I dunno where mine come from, but Charley's uster 
 belong to th' C I, over near Sagebrush basin. That's a good 
 hundred miles from here, too. Just wait till I get a gun! 
 Trip me an' steal my guns, huh? If I had a good cayuse I'd 
 have that C I bunch over here right quick! I reckon they'd like 
 to see this herd." 
 
 When he reached the bunkhouse all traces of his anger had 
 disappeared and he ate hungrily during the silent meal. 
 
 When Longhorn and Brazo pushed away from the table 
 Jimmy followed suit and talked pleasantly of things common 
 to cowmen, until the two picked up their saddles and rifles 
 and departed in the direction of the corral, the Boss staying 
 
JIMMY PRICE 41 
 
 with Jimmy and effectually blocking the door. But he could not 
 block Jimmy's hearing so easily and when the faint sound of 
 hoofbeats rolled past the bunkhouse Jimmy knew that there 
 were more than two men doing the riding. He concluded the 
 number to be five, and perhaps six; but his face gave no in- 
 dication of his mind's occupation. 
 
 "Play crib?" abruptly demanded the Boss, taking a well-worn 
 deck of cards from a shelf. Jimmy nodded and the game was 
 soon going on. "Seventeen," grunted the Boss, pegging slowly. 
 "Pair of fools, they are," he growled. "Both plumb stuck on 
 one gal an' they go courtin' together. She reminds me of a 
 slab of bacon, she's that homely." 
 
 Jimmy laughed at the obvious lie. "Well, a gal's a -gal out 
 here," he replied. "Twenty for a pair," he remarked. He won- 
 dered, as he pegged, if it was necessary to take along an escort 
 when one went courting on the Tortilla. The idea of Brazo and 
 Longhorn tolerating any rival or any company when courting 
 struck him as ludicrous. "An' which is goin' to win out, do 
 you reckon?" 
 
 "Longhorn — ^he's bad; an' a better gun-man. Twenty-three for 
 six. Got th' other tray?" anxiously grinned the Boss. 
 
 "Nothin' but an eight— that's two for th' go. My crib?" 
 
 The Boss nodded. "Ugly as blazes," he mused. "I wouldn't 
 court her, not even in th' dark — huh! Fifteen two an' a pair. 
 That's bad goin', very bad goin'," he sighed as he pegged. 
 
 "But you can't tell nothin' 'bout wimmen from their looks," 
 remarked Jimmy, with the grave assurance of a man whose 
 experience in that line covered years instead of weeks. "Now 
 I knowed a right purty gal once. She was plumb sweet an' 
 tender an' cHngin', she was. An' she had high ideas, she did. 
 She went an' told me she wouldn't have nothin' to do with 
 no man what wasn't honest, an' all that. But when a feller I 
 knowed rid in to her place one night she shore hid him under 
 
42 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 her bed for three days an' nights. He had got real popular with 
 a certain posse because he was careless with a straight iron. Folks 
 fairly yearned for to get a good look at him. They rid up to her 
 place and she lied so sweet an' perfect they shore apologized for 
 even botherin' her. Who'd 'a' thought to look under her bed, 
 anyhow.? Some day he'll go back an' natchurally run off with 
 that li'l gal." He scanned his hand and reached for the pegs. 
 "Got eight here," he grunted. 
 
 The Boss regarded him closely. "She stood off a posse with 
 her eyes an' mouth, eh?" 
 
 "Didn't have to stand 'em off. They was plumb ashamed th' 
 minute they saw her blushes. An' they was plumb sorry for her 
 bein' even a li'l interested in a no-account brand-blotter like — 
 him." He turned the crib over and spread it out with a sort of 
 disgust. "Come purty near bein' somethin' in that crib," he 
 growled. 
 
 "An' did you know that feller?" the Boss asked carelessly. 
 
 Jimmy started a little. "Why, yes; he was once a pal of 
 mine. But he got so he could blot a brand plumb clever. Us 
 cow-punchers shore like to gamble. We are plumb childish th' 
 way we bust into trouble. I never seen one yet that was worth 
 anythin' that wouldn't take 'most any kind of a fool chance 
 just for th' devilment of it." 
 
 The Boss rufHed his cards reflectively. "Yes; we are a careless 
 breed. Sort of flighty an' reckless. Do you think that gal's still 
 in love with you? Wimmin' is fickle," he laughed. 
 
 "She ain't',' retorted Jimmy with spirit. "She'll wait all right — 
 for him." 
 
 The Boss smiled cynically. "You can't hide it, Jimmy. Yo're 
 th' man what got so popular with th' sheriff. Ain't you?" 
 
 Jimmy half arose, but the Boss waved him to be seated again. 
 "Why, you ain't got nothin' to fear out here," he assured him. 
 "We sorta like fellers that'll take a chance. I reckon we all have 
 
JIMMY PRICE 43 
 
 took th' short end one time or another. An' I got th' idea mebby 
 yo're worth more'n fifty a month. Take any chances for a hun- 
 dred?" 
 
 Jimmy relaxed and grinned cheerfully. "I reckon I'd do a 
 whole lot for a hundred real dollars every month." 
 
 "Yo're on, fur's I'm concerned. I'll have to speak to th' boys 
 about it, first. Well, I'm goin' to turn in. You ride Brazo's an' 
 yore own range for th' next couple of days. Good night." 
 
 Jimmy arose and sauntered carelessly to the door, watched the 
 Boss enter his own house, and then sat down on the wash bench 
 and gazed contentedly across the moonlit range. "Gosh," he 
 laughed as he went over his story of the beautiful girl with the 
 high ideals. "I'm gettin* to be a sumptuous liar, I am. It comes 
 so easy I gotta look out or I'll get th' habit. I'd do mor'n lie, 
 too, to get my gun back, all right." He stretched ecstatically and 
 then sat up straight. The Boss was coming toward him and 
 something in his hand glittered in the soft moonlight as it 
 swung back and forth. "Forget somethin'?" called Jimmy. 
 
 "You better stop watchin' th' moonlight," laughed the Boss 
 as he drew near. "That's a bad sign — 'specially while that gal's 
 waitin' for you. Here's yore gun an' belt — ^I reckoned mebby 
 you might need it." 
 
 Jimmy chuckled as he took the weapon. "I ain't so shore 
 'bout needin' it, but I was plumb lost without it. Kept feelin' 
 for it all th' time an' it was gettin' on my nerves." He weighed 
 it critically and spun the cylinder, carelessly feeling for the lead 
 in the chambers as the cylinder stopped. Every one was loaded 
 and a thrill of fierce joy surged over him. But he was suspicious 
 — the ofiEer was too quick and transparent. Slipping on the belt 
 he let the gun slide into the blackened holster and grinned up 
 at the Boss. "Much obliged. It feels right, now." He drew the 
 Colt again and emptied the cartridges into his hand. "Them's 
 th' only pills as will cure troubles a doctor can't touch," he 
 
44 THE CXJMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 observed, holding one up close to his face and shaking it at 
 the smiling Boss in the way of emphasis. His quick ear caught 
 the sound he strained to hear, the soft swish inside the shell. 
 "Them's Law in this country," he soliloquized as he slid the 
 tested shell in one particular chamber and filled all the others. 
 "Yessir," he remarked as the cylinder slowly revolved until he 
 had counted the right number of clicks and knew that the 
 tested shell was in the right place. "Yessir, them's The Law." 
 The soft moonUght suddenly kissed the leveled barrel and 
 showed the determination that marked the youthful face behind 
 it. "An' it shore works both ways, Boss," he said harshly. "Put 
 up yore paws!" 
 
 As the Boss leaped forward the hammer fell and caused a 
 faint, cap-like report. Then the stars streamed across Jimmy's 
 vision and became blotted out by an inky-black curtain that 
 suddenly enveloped him. The Boss picked up the gun and, 
 tossing it on the bench, waited for the prostrate youth to re- 
 gain his senses. 
 
 Jimmy stirred and looked around, his eyes losing their look 
 of vacancy and slowly filling with murderous hatred as he saw 
 the man above him and remembered what had occurred. "Sand 
 sounds like powder, my youthful friend," the Boss was saying, 
 "but it don't wor\ like powder. I purty near swallowed yore 
 gal story; but I sorta reckoned mebby I better make shore about 
 you. Yo're clever, Jimmy; so clever that I dassn't take no 
 chances with you. I'll just tie you up till th' boys come back — 
 we both know what they'll say. I'd 'a* done it then only I like 
 you; an' I wish you had been in earnest about joinin' us. Now 
 get up." 
 
 Jimmy arose slowly and cautiously and then moved like a 
 flash, only to look down the barrel of a Colt. His clenched hands 
 fell to his side and he bowed his head; but the Boss was too 
 wary to be caught by any pretenses of a broken spirit. "Turn 
 
JIMMY PRICE 45 
 
 'round an' hoi' up yore ban's," he ordered. "I'll blow you apart 
 if you even squirms." 
 
 Jimmy obeyed, seething with impotent fury, but the steady 
 pressure of the Colt on his back told him how useless it was 
 to resist. Life was good, even a few hours of it, for in those 
 few hours perhaps a chance would come to him. The rope that 
 had hung on the wall passed over his wrists and in a few mo- 
 ments he was helpless. "Now sit down," came the order and 
 the prisoner obeyed sullenly. The Boss went in the bunkhouse 
 and soon returned, picked up the captive and, carrying him 
 to the bunk prepared for him, dumped him in it, tied a few 
 more knots and, closing the door, securely propped it shut and 
 strode toward his own quarters, swearing savagely under his 
 breath. 
 
 An hour later, while a string of horsemen rode along the 
 crooked, low-lying trail across the Tortilla, plain in the moon- 
 light, a figure at the bunkhouse turned the corner, slipped to 
 the door and carefully removed the props. 
 
 Waiting a moment it opened the door slowly and slipped into 
 the black interior, and chuckled at the sarcastic challenge from 
 the bunk. "Sneakin' back again, hey?" blazed Jimmy, trying in 
 vain to bridge on his head and heels and turn over to face the 
 intruder. "Turn me loose an' gimme a gun — ^I oughta have a 
 chance!" 
 
 "All right," said a quiet, strange voice. "That's what I'm here 
 for; but don't talk so loud." 
 
 "Who're you?" 
 
 "My name's Cassidy. I'm from th' Bar-20, what owns them 
 cows you been abusin'. Huh! he shore tied some knots! Wasn't 
 takin' no more chances with you, all right!" 
 
 "G'wan! He never did take none." 
 
 "So I've observed. Get th' blood circulatin' an' I'll give you 
 
46 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 some war-medicine for that useless gun of yourn what ain't 
 sand." 
 
 "Good for you! I'll sidle up agin' that shack an' fill him so 
 full of lead he won't know what hit him!" 
 
 "Well, every man does things in his own way; but I've been 
 thinkin' he oughta have a chance. He shore gave you some. 
 Take it all in all, he's been purty white to you. Kid. Longhorn'd 
 'a' shot you quick tonight." 
 
 "Yes; an' I'm goin' to get him, too!" 
 
 "Now you ain't got no gratitude," sighed Cassidy. "You want 
 to hog it all. I was figgerin' to clean out this place by myself, 
 but now you cut in an' want to freeze me out. But, Kid, mebby 
 Longhorn won't come back no more. My outfit's a-layin' for 
 his li'l party. I sent 'em down word to expect a call on our 
 north section; an' I reckon they got a purty good idea of th' 
 way up here, in case they don't receive Longhorn an' his friends 
 as per schedule." 
 
 "How long you been up here?" asked Jimmy in surprise, 
 pausing in his operation of starting his blood to circulating. 
 
 "Long enough to know a lot about this layout. For instance, 
 I know yo're honest. That's why I cut you loose tonight. You 
 see, my friends might drop in here any minute an' if you was 
 in bad company they might make a mistake. They acts some 
 hasty, at times. I'm also offerin' you a good job if you wants 
 it. We need another man." 
 
 "I'm yourn, all right. An' I reckon I will give th' Boss a 
 chance. He'll be more surprised, that way." 
 
 Cassidy nodded in the dark. "Yes, I reckon so; he'll have 
 time to wonder a li'l. Now you tell me how yo're goin' at this 
 game." 
 
 But he didn't get a chance then, for his companion, listening 
 intently, whistled softly and received an answer. In another mo- 
 ment the room was full of figures and the soft buzz of animated 
 
JIMMY PRICE 47 
 
 conversation held his interest. "All right," said a deep voice. 
 "We'll keep on an' get that herd started back at daylight. I£ 
 Longhorn shows up you can handle him; i£ you can't, there's 
 yore friend Jimmy," and the soft laugh w^armed Jimmy's heart. 
 "Why, Buck," replied Jimmy's friend, "he's spoke for that job 
 already." The foreman turned and paused as he stood in the 
 door. "Don't forget; you ain't to wait for us. Take Jimmy, if 
 you wants, an' head for Oleson's. I ain't shore that herd of 
 hissn is good enough for us. We'll handle this li'l drive-herd 
 easy. So long." 
 
 Red Connors stuck his head through a small window: "Hey, 
 if Longhorn shows up, give him my comphments. I shore 
 bungled that shot." 
 
 " 'Tain't th' first," chuckled Cassidy. But Buck cut short the 
 arguments and led the way to Jimmy's pasture. 
 
 At daylight the Boss rolled out of his bunk, started a fire 
 and put on a kettle of water to get hot. Buckling on his gun 
 he opened the door and started toward the bunkhouse, where 
 everything appeared to be as he had left it the night before. 
 
 "It's a cussed shame." he growled. "But I can't risk him 
 bringin' a posse out here. What th' devil!" he shouted as he 
 ducked. A bullet sang over his head, high above him, and he 
 glanced at the bunkhouse with renewed interest. 
 
 Having notified the Boss of his intentions and of the change 
 in the situation, Jimmy walked around the corner of the house 
 and sent one dangerously close to strengthen the idea that sand 
 was no longer sand. But the Boss had surmised this instantly 
 and was greatly shocked by such miraculous happenings on his 
 range. He nodded cheerfully at the nearing youth and as cheer- 
 fully raised his gun, "An' he gave me a chance, too! He could 
 'a' got me easy if he didn't warn me! Well, here goes. Kid," 
 he muttered, firing. 
 
 Jimmy promptly replied and scored a hit. It was not much 
 
48 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 of a hit, but it carried reflection in its sting. The Boss's heart 
 hardened as he flinched instinctively and he sent forth his shots 
 with cool deliberation. Jimmy swayed and stopped, which sent 
 the Boss forward on the jump. But the youth was only further 
 proving his cleverness against a man whom he could not beat 
 at so long a range. As the Boss stopped again to get the work 
 over with, a flash of smoke spurted from Jimmy's hand and 
 the rustler spun half way around, stumbled and fell. Jimmy 
 paused in indecision, a little suspicious of the fall, but a noise 
 behind him made him wheel around to look. 
 
 A horseman, having topped the little hill just behind the 
 bunkhouse, was racing down the slope as fast as his worn-out 
 horse could carry him, and in his upraised hand a Colt glittered 
 as it swung down to become lost in a spurt of smoke. Long- 
 horn, returning to warn his chief, felt savage elation at this 
 opportunity to unload quite a cargo of accumulated grouches 
 of various kinds and sizes, which collection he had picked up 
 from the Bar-20 northward in a running fight of twenty miles. 
 Only a lucky cross trail, that had led him off at a tangent and 
 somehow escaped the eyes of his pursuers, had saved him from 
 the fate of his companions. 
 
 Jimmy swung his gun on the newcomer, but it only clicked, 
 and the vexed youth darted and dodged and ducked with a 
 speed and agility very creditable as he jammed cartridges into 
 the empty chambers. Jimmy's interest in the new conditions 
 made him forget that he had a gun and he stared in rapt and 
 delighted anticipation at the cloud of dust that swirled suddenly 
 from behind the corral and raced toward the disgruntled Mr. 
 Longhorn, shouting Red's message as it came. 
 
 Mr. Cassidy sat jauntily erect and guided his fresh, gingery 
 mount by the pressure of cunning kntes. The brim of his big 
 sombrero, pinned back against the crown by the pressure of 
 the wind, revealed the determination and optimism that strug- 
 
JIMMY pmcE 49 
 
 gled to show itself around his firmly set lips; his neckerchief 
 flapped and cracked behind his head and the hairs of his snow- 
 white goat-skin chaps rippled like a thing cf Hfe and caused 
 Jimmy, even in his fascinated interest, to covet them. 
 
 But Longhorn's soul held no reverence for goatskin and he 
 cursed harder when Red's compliments struck his ear about the 
 time one of Cassidy's struck his shoulder. He was firing hastily 
 against a man who shot as though the devil had been his teacher. 
 The man from the Bar-20 used two guns and they roared Uke 
 the roll of a drum and flashed through the heavy, low-lying 
 cloud of swirling smoke like the darting tongue of an angry 
 snake. 
 
 Longhorn, enveloped in the acrid smoke of his own gun, 
 which wrapped him like a gaseous shroud, knew that his end 
 had come. He was being shot to pieces by a two-gun man, the 
 like of whose skill he had never before seen or heard of. As 
 the last note of the short, five second, cracking tatto died away 
 Mr. Cassidy slipped his empty guns in their holsters and turned 
 his pony's head toward the fascinated spectator, whose mouth 
 offered easy entry to smoke and dust. As Cassidy glanced care- 
 lessly back at the late rustler Jimmy shut his mouth, gulped, 
 opened it to speak, shut it again and cleared his dry throat. 
 Looking from Cassidy to Longhorn and back again, he opened 
 his mouth once more. "You — you — ^what'd 'ju pay for them 
 chaps?" he blurted, idiotically. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Jimmy Visits Sharpsville 
 
 Bill Cassidy rode slowly into Sharpsville and dismounted in 
 front of Carter's Emporium, nodding carelessely to the loungers 
 hugging the shade of the store. "Howd'y," he said. "Seen any- 
 thing of Jimmy Price — a kid, but about my height, with brown 
 hair and a devilish disposition?" 
 
 Carter stretched and yawned, a signal for a salvo of yawns. 
 "Nope, thank God. You needn't describe nothin' about that 
 Price cub to none of us. We know him. He spent three days 
 here about a year ago, an' th' town's been sorta restin' up ever 
 since. You don't mean for to tell us he's comin' here again!" 
 he exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk. 
 
 Bill laughed at the expression. "As long as you yearn for him 
 so powerful hard, why I gotta tell you he's on his way, anyhow. 
 I had to go east for a day's ride an he headed this way. He's 
 to meet me here." 
 
 Carter turned and looked at the others blankly. Old Dad 
 Johnson nervously stroked his chin. "Well, then he'll git here, 
 all right," he prophesied pessimistically. "He usually gets where 
 he starts for; an' I'm plumb glad I'm goin' on tomorrow." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed George Bruce. "So'm I goin' on, by Scott!" 
 
 Grunts and envious looks came from the group and Carter 
 squirmed uneasily. "That's just like you fellers, runnin' away an' 
 leavin' me to face it. An' it was you fellers what played most 
 of th' tricks on him last time he was here. Huh! now I gotta 
 pay for 'em," he growled. 
 
 Bill glanced over the gloomy circle and laughed heartily. Two 
 
 50 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 5I 
 
 faces out o£ seven w^ere bright, Dad's particularly so. "Well, he 
 seems to be quite a favorite around here," he grinned. 
 
 Carter snorted. "Huh! Seems to be nothin'." 
 
 "He ain't exactly a favorite," muttered Dawson. "He's a — a — 
 an event; that's what he is!" 
 
 Carter nodded. "Yep; that's what he is, 'though you just 
 can't help likin' th' cub, he's that cheerful in his devilment." 
 
 Charley Logan stretched and yawned. "Didn't hear nothin' 
 about no Injuns, did you? A feller rid through here yesterday 
 an' said they was out again." 
 
 Bill nodded. "Yes; I did. An' there's a lot of rumors goin' 
 around. They've been over in th' Crazy Butte country an' I 
 heard they raided through th' Little Mountain Valley last week. 
 Anyhow, th' Seventh is out after 'em, in four sections." 
 
 "Th' Seventh is a regiment," asserted George Bruce. "Leasta- 
 wise it was when I was in it. It is th' best in th' Service." 
 
 Dad snorted. "Listen to him! It was when he was in it! 
 Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!" he chuckled. 
 
 "There hain't no cavalry slick enough to ketch Apaches," 
 declared Hank, dogmatically. "Troops has too many fixin's an' 
 sech. You gotta travel light an' live without eatin' an' drinkin' 
 to ketch them Injuns; an' then you never hardly sometimes see 
 'em, at that." 
 
 "Lemme tell you, Mosshead, th' Seventh can lick all th' In- 
 juns ever spawned!" asserted Bruce with heat. "It wiped out 
 Black Kettle's camp, in th' dead of winter, too!" 
 
 "That was Custer as did that," snorted Carter. 
 
 "Well, he was leadin' th' Seventh, same as he is now!" 
 
 Charley Logan shook his head. "We are talking about ketchin' 
 'em, not fightin' 'em. An' no cavalry in th' hull country can 
 ketch 'Paches in this country — it's too rough. 'Paches are only 
 scared of punchers." 
 
 "Shore," asserted Carter. "Apaches laugh at troops, less 'n it's 
 
52 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 a pitched battle, when they don't. Cavalry chases 'em so fur 
 an' no farther; punchers chase 'em inter blazes, out of it an' 
 back again." 
 
 "They shore is 'lusive," cogitated Lefty Dawson, carefully 
 deluging a fly ten feet away and shifting his cud for another 
 shot. "An' I, for one, admits I ain't hankerin' for to chase 'em 
 close." 
 
 "Wish we could get that cub Jimmy to chase some," exclaimed 
 Carter. "Afore he gits here," he explained, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Oh, he's all right, Carter," spoke up Lefty. "We was all of 
 us yoimg and playful onct." 
 
 "But we all warn't he-devils workin' day an' night tryin' to 
 make our betters miserable!" 
 
 "Oh, he's a good kid," remarked Dad. "I sorta hates to miss 
 him. Anyhow, we got th' best of him, last time." 
 
 Bill finished rolling a cigarette, lit it and slowly addressed 
 them. "Well, all I got to say is that he suits me right plumb 
 down to th* ground. Now, just lemme tell you somethin' about 
 Jimmy," and he gave them the story of Jimmy's part in the hap- 
 penings on Tortilla Range, to the great delight of his audience. 
 
 "By Scott, it's just like him!" chuckled George Bruce. 
 
 "That's shore Jimmy, all right," laughed Lefty. 
 
 "What did / tell you.?" beamed Dad. "He's a heller, he is. 
 He's aU right!" 
 
 "Then why don't you stay an' see him?" demanded Carter. 
 
 "I gotta go on, or I would. Yessir, I would!" 
 
 "Reckon them Injuns won't git so fur north as here," sug- 
 gested Carter hopefully, and harking back to the subject which 
 lay heaviest on his mind. "They've only been here twict in ten 
 years." 
 
 "Which was twice too often," asserted Lefty. 
 
 "Th' last time they was here," remarked Dad, reminiscently, 
 "they didn't stop long: though where they went to I dunno. 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVIIXE 53 
 
 We gave 'em more 'n they could handle. That M^as th' time 
 I just bought that new Sharps rifle, an' what I done with that 
 gun was turrible." He paused to gather the facts in the right 
 order before he told the story, and when he looked around 
 again he flushed and swore. The audience had silently faded 
 away to escape the moth-eaten story they knew by heart. The 
 fact that Dad usually improved it and his part in it, each time 
 he told it, did not lure them. "Cussed ingrates!" he swore, turn- 
 ing to Bill. "They're plumb jealous!" 
 
 "They act like it, anyhow," agreed Bill soberly. "I'd like to 
 hear it, but I'm too thirsty. Come in an' have one with me?" 
 The story was indefinitely postponed. 
 
 An accordion wheezed down the street and a mouth-organ 
 tried desperately to join in from the saloon next door, but, ow- 
 ing to a great difference in memory, did not harmonize. A roar 
 of laughter from Dawson's, and the loud clink of glasses told 
 where Dad's would-have-been audience then was. Carter walked 
 around his counter and seated himself in his favorite place 
 against the door jamb. Bill, having eluded Dad, sat on a keg 
 of edibles and smoked in silence and content, occasionally slap- 
 ping at the flies which buzzed persistently around his head. 
 Knocking the ashes from the cigarette he leaned back lazily 
 and looked at Carter. "Wonder where he is?" he muttered. 
 
 "Huh?" grunted the proprietor, glancing around. "Oh, you 
 worryin' about that yearlin'? Well, you needn't! Nothin' never 
 sidetracks Jimmy." 
 
 A fusillade of shots made Bill stand up, and Carter leaped 
 to his feet and dashed toward the counter. But he paused and 
 looked around foolishly. "That's his yell," he explained. "Didn't 
 I tell you? He's arrove, same as usual." 
 
 The drumming of hoofs came rapidly nearer and heads pop- 
 ped out of windows and doors, each head flanked by a rifle 
 barrel. Above a swirling cloud of dust glinted a spurting Colt 
 
 I 
 
54 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 and thrust through the smudge was a hand waving a strange 
 collection of articles. 
 
 "Hullo, Kid!" shouted Dawson. "What you got? See any 
 Injuns?'* 
 
 "It's a G-string an' a medicine-bag, by all that's holy!" cried 
 Dad from the harness shop. "Where'd you git 'em, Jimmy?" 
 
 Jimmy drew rein and slid to a stand, pricking his nettlesome 
 "Calico" until it pranced to suit him. Waving the Apache 
 breech-cloth, the medicine-bag and a stocking-shaped moccasin 
 in one hand, he proudly held up an old, dirty, battered Win- 
 chester repeater in the other and whooped a war-cry. 
 
 "Blame my hide!" shouted Dad, running out into the street. 
 "It is a G-string! He's gone an' got one of 'em! He's gone an' 
 got a 'Pache! Good boy, Kid! An' how'd you do it?" 
 
 Carter plodded through the dust with Bill close behind. 
 "Where'd you do it?" demanded the proprietor eagerly. To 
 Carter location meant more than method. He was plainly nerv- 
 «ous. When he reached the crowd he, in turn, examined the 
 trophies. They were genuine, and on the G-string was a splotch 
 of crimson, muddy with dust. 
 
 "What's in the war-bag. Kid?'* demanded Lefty, preparing 
 to see for himself. Jimmy snatched it from his hands. "You 
 never mind what's in it, Freckle-face!" he snapped. "That's my 
 bag, now 4 Want to spoil my luck?'* 
 
 "How'd you do it?" demanded Dad breathlessly. 
 
 "Where'd. you do it?" snapped Carter. He glanced hurriedly 
 around the horizon and repeated the question with vehemence. 
 "Where'd you get him?" 
 
 "In th' groin, first. Then through th' — " 
 
 "I don't mean where, I mean where — near here?" interrupted 
 Carter. 
 
 "Oh, fifteen mile east," answered Jimmy. "He was crawlin' 
 down on a bunch of cattle. He saw me just as I saw him. But 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 55 
 
 he missed an' I didn't," he gloated proudly. "I met a Pawnee 
 scout just afterward an' he near got shot before he signaled. 
 He says hell's a-poppin'. Th' 'Paches are raidin' all over th' 
 country, down — " 
 
 "I knowed it!" shouted Carter. "Yessir, I knowed it! I felt 
 it all along! Where you finds one you finds a bunch!" 
 
 "We'll give 'em blazes, like th' last time!" cried Dad, hurry- 
 ing away to the harness shop where he had left his rifle. 
 
 "I've been needin' some excitement for a long time," laughed 
 Dawson. "I shore hope they come." 
 
 Carter paused long enough to retort over his shoulder: "An' 
 I hopes you drop dead! You never did have no sense! Not no- 
 how!" 
 
 Bill smiled at the sudden awakening and watched the scram- 
 bling for weapons. "Why, there's enough men here to wipe 
 out a tribe. I reckon we'll stay an' see th' fun. Anyhow, it'll be 
 a whole lot safer here than fightin' by ourselves out in th' open 
 somewhere. What you say?" 
 
 "You couldn't drag me away from this town right now with 
 a cayuse," Jimmy replied, gravely hanging the medicine-bag 
 around his neck and then stuffing the gory G-string in the folds 
 of the slicker he carried strapped behind the cantle of the saddle. 
 "We'll see it out right here. But I do wish that 'Pache owned 
 a better gun than this thing. It's most falUn' apart an' ain't 
 worth nothin'." 
 
 Bill took it and examined the rifling and the breech-block. He 
 laughed as he handed it back. "You oughta be glad it wasn't 
 a better gun. Kid. I don't reckon he could put two in the same 
 place at two hundred paces with this thing. I ain't even anxious 
 to shoot it off on a bet." 
 
 Jimmy gasped suddenly and grinned until the safety of his 
 ears was threatened. "Would you look at Carter?" he chuckled, 
 pointing. Bill turned and saw the proprietor of Carter's Empor- 
 
56 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 ium carrying water into iiis store, and with a speed that would 
 lead one to infer that he was doing it on a wager. Emerging 
 again he saw the punchers looking at him and, dropping the 
 buckets, he wipped his face on his sleeve and shook his head. 
 "I'm fillin' everything," he called. "I reckon we better stand 
 'em of! from my store — th' walls are thicker." 
 
 Bill smiled at the excuse and looked down the street at the 
 adobe buildings. "What about th' 'dobes, Carter?" he asked. 
 The walls of some of them were more than two feet thick. 
 
 Carter scowled, scratched his head and made a gesture of im- 
 patience. "They ain't big enough to hold us all," he replied, 
 with triumph. "This here store is th' best place. An', besides, 
 it's all stocked with water an' grub, an' everything." 
 
 Jimmy nodded. "Yo're right. Carter; it's th' best place." To 
 Bill he said in an aside. "He's plumb anxious to protect that 
 shack, now ain't he?" 
 
 Lefty Dawson came sauntering up. "Wonder if Carter'll let 
 us hold out in his store?" 
 
 "He'll pay you to," laughed Bill. 
 
 "It's loop-holed. Been so since th' last raid," explained Lefty. 
 "An' it's chock full of grub," he grinned. 
 
 They heard Dad's voice around the corner. "Just like last 
 time," he was saying. "We oughta put four men in Dick's 'dobe 
 acrost th' street. Then we'd have a strategy position. You see — 
 oh, hullo," he said as he rounded the corner ahead of George 
 Bruce. "Who's goin' on picket duty?" he demanded. 
 
 Under the blazing sun a yellow dog wandered aimlessly down 
 the deserted street, his main interest in life centered on his skin, 
 which he frequently sat down to chew. During the brief respites 
 he lounged in the doors of deserted buildings, frequently explor- 
 ing the quiet interiors for food. Emerging from the "hotel" he 
 looked across the street at the Emporium and barked tentatively 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 57 
 
 at the man sitting on its flat roof. Wriggling apologetically, he 
 slowly gained the middle o£ the street and then sat down to 
 investigate a sharp attack. A can sailed out of the open door and 
 a flurry of yellow streaked around the corner of the "hotel" and 
 vanished. 
 
 In the Emporium grave men played poker for nails, Bill Cas- 
 sidy having coralled all the available cash long before this, and 
 conversed in low tones. The walls, reinforced breast high by 
 boxes, barrels and bags, were divided into regular intervals by 
 the open loopholes, each opening further indicated by a leaning 
 rifle or two and generous piles of cartridges. Two tubs and half 
 a dozen buckets filled with water stood in the center of the 
 room, carefully covered over with boards and wrapping paper. 
 Clouds of tobacco smoke lay in filmy stratums in the heated air 
 and drifted up the resin-streaked sides of the building. The 
 shimmering, gray sand stretched away in a glare of sunlight 
 and seemed to writhe under the heated air, while droning flies 
 flitted lazily through the windows and held caucuses on the 
 sugar barrel. A slight, grating sound overhead caused several of 
 the more irritable or energetic men to glance up lazily, grateful 
 they were not in Hank's place. It was hot enough under the 
 roof, and they stretched ecstatically as they thought of Hank. 
 Three days' vigil and anxiety had become trying even to the 
 most stolid. 
 
 John Carter fretfully damned solitaire and pushed the cards 
 away to pick up pencil and paper and figure thoughtfully. This 
 seemed to furnish him with even less amusement, for he scowled 
 and turned to watch the poker game. "Huh," he sniffed, "playin' 
 poker for nails! An' you don't even own th' nails," he grinned 
 facetiously, and glanced around to see if his point was taken. 
 He suddenly stiffened when he noticed the man who sat on 
 his counter and labored patiently and zealously with a pocket 
 knife. "Hey, you!" he exclaimed excitedly, his wrath quickly 
 
58 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 aroused. "Ain't you never had no bringin' up ? If yo're so plumb 
 sot on whittlin', you tackle that sugar barrel!" 
 
 Jimmy looked the barrel over critically and then regarded 
 the peeved proprietor, shaking his head sorrowfully. "This here 
 is a better medjum for the ex-position of my art," he replied 
 gravely. "An' as for bringin' up, lemme observe to these gents 
 here assembled that you ain't never had no artistic trainin'. Yore 
 skimpy soul is dwarfed an' narrowed by false weights and 
 dented measures. You can look a sunset in th' face an' not see 
 it for countin' yore profits." Carter glanced instinctively at the 
 figures as Jimmy continued. "An' you can't see no beauty in a 
 daisy's grace — which last is from a book. I'm here carvin' th' 
 very image of my cayuse an' givin' you a work of art, free an' 
 gratis. I'm timid an' sensative, I am; an' I'll feel hurt if — " 
 
 "Stop that noise," snorted a man in the corner, turning over 
 to try again. "Sensitive an' timid,? Yes, as a mule! Shut up an' 
 lemme get a little sleep." 
 
 "A-men," sighed a poker-player. "An' let him sleep — ^he's a 
 cussed nuisance when he's awake." 
 
 "Two mules," amended the dealer. "Which is worse than 
 one," he added thoughtfully. 
 
 "We oughta put four men in that 'dobe — " began Dad per- 
 sistently. 
 
 "An' will you shut up about that 'dobe an' yore four men.?" 
 snapped Lefty. "Can't you say nothin' less'n it's about that mud 
 hut?" 
 
 Jimmy smiled maddeningly at the irritated crowd. "As I was 
 sayin' before you all interrupted me, I'll feel hurt — " 
 
 "You will; an' quick!" snapped Carter. "You quit gougin' 
 that counter!" 
 
 Bill craned his neck to examine the carving, and forthwith 
 held out a derisively pointing forefinger. 
 
 "Cayuse.?" he inquired sarcastically. "Looks more like th' map 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 59 
 
 o£ th' United States, with some almost necessary parts tnissin'. 
 Your geography musta been different from mine." 
 
 The artist smiled brightly. "Here's a man with imagination, 
 th' emancipator of thought. It's crude an' untrained, but it's 
 there. Imagination is a hopeful sign, for it is only given to 
 human bein's. From this we surmise an' must conclude that 
 Bill is human." 
 
 "Will somebody be liar enough to say th' same of you?" 
 politely inquired the dealer. 
 
 "Will you fools shut up.?" demanded the man who would 
 sleep. He had been on guard half the night. 
 
 "But you oughta label it, Jimmy," said Bill. "You've got Cali- 
 fornia bulgin' too high up, an' Florida sticks out th' wrong way. 
 Th' Great Lakes is all wrong — looks like a kidney sHppin' off 
 of Canada. An' where's Texas?" 
 
 "Huh! It'd have to be a cow to show Texas," grinned Dad 
 Johnson, who, it appeared, also had an imagination and wanted 
 people to know it. 
 
 "You cuttin' in on this teet-a-teet?" demanded Jimmy, dodg- 
 ing the compliments of the sleepy individual. 
 
 "As a map it is no good," decided Bill decisively. 
 
 "It is no map," retorted Jimmy. "I know where California 
 bulges an' how Florida sticks out. What you call California is 
 th' south end of th' cayuse, above which I'm goin' to put th' 
 taU-" 
 
 "Not if I'm man enough, you ain't!" interposed Carter, with 
 no regard for politeness. 
 
 " — where I'm goin' to put th' tail," repeated Jimmy. "Florida 
 is one front laig raised off th' ground — " 
 
 "Trick cayuse, by Scott!" grunted George Bruce. "No wonder 
 it looks like a map." 
 
 "Th' Great Lakes is th' saddle, an' Maine is where th' mane 
 goes — Ouch!" 
 
60 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Mangy pun," grinned Bill. 
 
 "Kentucky ought to be under th' saddle," laughed Dad, 
 smacking his lips. "Pass th' bottle, John." 
 
 "You take too much an' we'll all be lU-o'-noise," said Charley 
 Logan alertly. 
 
 "Them Injuns can't come too soon to suit me" growled Fred 
 Thomas. "Who started this, anyhow?" 
 
 The sleepy man arose on one elbow, his eyes glinting. "After 
 th* fight, you ask me th' same thing! Th' answer will be ME!" 
 he snapped. "I'm goin' to clean house in about two minutes, an* 
 fire you all out in th' street!" 
 
 Jimmy smiled down at him. "Well, you needn't be so sweepin' 
 an' extensive in yore cleanin' operations," he retorted. "All you 
 gotta do is go outside an' roll in th' dust like a chicken." 
 
 The crowd roared its appreciation and the sleepy individual 
 turned over again, growling sweeping opinions. 
 
 "But if them Injuns are comin' I shore wish they'd hurry up 
 an' do it," asserted Dad. "I ought to 'a' been home three days 
 ago." 
 
 "Wish to Pete you was!" came from the floor. 
 
 Bill tossed away his half-smoked cigarette. Carter promptly 
 plunging into the sugar barrel after it. "They ain't comin'," Bill 
 asserted. "Every time some drunk Injun gets in a fight or beats 
 his squaw th' rumor starts. An' by th' time it gets to us it says 
 that all th' Apaches are out follerin' old Geronimo on th' war 
 trail. He can be more places at once than anybody / ever heard 
 of. I'm ridin' on tomorrow morning, 'Paches or no 'Paches." 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Jimmy, glancing at Carter. "I'll have this 
 here carving all done by then." 
 
 There was a sudden scrambling and thumping overhead and 
 hot exclamations zephyred down to them. Carter dashed to the 
 door, while the others reached for rifles and began to take up 
 positions. 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 6l 
 
 "See 'em, Hank?" cried Carter anxiously. 
 
 See what?/' came a growl from above. 
 
 "Injuns, of course, you blamed fool!" 
 
 "Naw," snorted Hank. "There ain't no Injuns out at all, not 
 after Jimmy got that one." 
 
 "Then what's th' matter?" 
 
 "My dawg's lickin' yore dawg. Sic him, Pete! Hi, there! Don't 
 you run!" 
 
 "My dawg still gettin' Hcked?" grinned Carter. 
 
 "I'll swap you," offered Hank promptly. "Mine can lick yourn, 
 anyhow." 
 
 "In a race, mebby." 
 
 "Heck!" growled Hank, cautiously separating himself from 
 a patch of hot resin that had exuded generously from a pine 
 knot. "I'm purty nigh cooked an' I'm comin' down, Injuns or 
 no Injuns. If they was comin' this way they'd 'a' been here long 
 afore this. " 
 
 "But that Pawnee told Price they was out," objected Carter. 
 "Cassidy heard th' same thing, too. An' didn't Jimmy get one!" 
 he finished triumphantly. 
 
 "Th' Pawnee was drunk!" retorted Hank, collecting splinters 
 as he slipped a little down the roof. "Great Mavericks! This here 
 is awful!" He grabbed a protruding nail and checked himself. 
 "Price might 'a' shot a 'Pache, or he might not. I don't take 
 him serious no more. An' that feller Cassidy can't help what 
 scared folks tells him. Suflerin' toads, what a roof!" 
 
 Carter turned and looked back in the store. "Jimmy, you shore 
 they are out? An' will you quit cuttin' that counter!" 
 
 Jimmy slid off the counter and closed the knife. "That's what 
 th' Pawnee said. When I told you fellers about it, you was so 
 plumb anxious to fight, an' eager to interrupt an' ask fool ques- 
 tions that I shore hated to spoil it all. What that scout says was 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 that th' 'Paches was out raidin' down Colby way, an' was headin' 
 south when last re — " 
 
 "Colby!" yelled Lefty Dawson, as the others stared foolishly. 
 "Colby! Why, that's three hundred miles south of here! An' you 
 let us make fools of ourselves for three days! I'll bust you open!" 
 and he arose to carry out his threat. "Where'd you git them 
 trophies?" shouted Dad angrily. "Them was genuine!" Jimmy 
 slipped through the door as Dawson leaped and he fled at top 
 speed to the corral, mounted in one bound and dashed off a 
 short distance. "Why, I got them trophies in a poker game from 
 that same Pawnee scout, you Mosshead! He couldn't play th' 
 game no better'n you fellers. An' th' blood is snake's blood, 
 fresh put on. You will drive me out of town, hey?" he jeered, 
 and, wheeling, forthwith rode for his life. Back in the store Bill 
 knocked aside the rifle barrel that Carter shoved through a loop 
 hole. "A joke's a joke, Carter," he said sternly. "You don't aim 
 to hit him, but you might," and Carter, surprised at the strength 
 of the twist, grinned, muttered something and went to the door 
 without his rifle, which Bill suddenly recognized. It was the 
 weapon that had made up Jimmy's "trophies"! 
 
 "Blame his hide!" spluttered Lefty, not knowing whether to 
 shoot or laugh. A queer noise behind him made him turn, a 
 movement imitated by the rest. They saw Bill rolling over and 
 over on the floor in an agony of mirth. One by one the enraged 
 garrison caught the infection and one by one lay down on the 
 floor and wept. Lefty, propping himself against the sugar barrel, 
 swayed to and fro, senselessly gasping. "They alius are raidin* 
 down Colby way! Blame my hide, oh, blame my hide! Ha-ha-ha! 
 Ha-ha-ha! They alius are raidin' down Colby way!" 
 
 "Three days, an' Hank on th' roof!" gurgled George Bruce. 
 "Three days, by Scott!" 
 
 "Hank on th' roof," sobbed Carter, "settin' on splinters an 
 
JIMMY VISITS SHARPSVILLE 63 
 
 hot rosim! Whee-hee-hee! Three-hee-hee days hatchin' pine 
 knots an' rosim!" 
 
 "Gimme a drink! Gimme a drink!" whispered Dad, doubled 
 up in a corner. "Gimme a ho-ho-ho!" he roared in a fresh parox- 
 ysm of mirth. "Lefty an' George settin' up nights watchin' th' 
 shadders! Ho-ho-ho!" 
 
 "An' Carter boardin' us free!" yelled Baldy Martin. "Oh, my 
 gosh! He'll never get over it!" 
 
 "Yessir!" squeaked Dad. "Free; an' scared we'd let 'em burn 
 his store. 'Better stand 'em off in my place,' he says. 'It's full of 
 grub,' he ^ays. He-he-he!" 
 
 "An' did you see Hank squattin' on th' roof hke a horned 
 toad waitin' for his dinner?" shouted Dickinson. "I'm goin' to 
 die! I'm goin' to die!" he sobbed. 
 
 "No sich luck!" snorted Hank belligerently. "I'll skin him 
 alive! Yessir; alive!" 
 
 Carter paused in his calculations of his loss in food and to- 
 bacco. "Better let him alone, Hank," he warned earnestly. "Any- 
 how, we pestered him nigh to death las' time, an' he's shore 
 come back at us. Better let him alone!" 
 
 Up the street Jimmy stood beside his horse and thumped and 
 scratched the yellow dog until its rolling eyes bespoke a bliss 
 unutterable and its tail could not wag because of sheer ecstacy. 
 
 "Purp," he said gravely, "never play jokes on a pore unfortu- 
 nate an' git careless. Don't never forget it. Last time I was here 
 they abused me shameful. Now that th' storm has busted an' 
 this is gettin' cahn-like, you an' me'll go back an' get a good 
 look at th' asylum," he suggested, vaulting into the saddle and 
 starting toward the store. No invitation was needed because the 
 dog had adopted him on the spot. And the next morning, when 
 Jimmy and Bill, loaded with poker-gained wealth, rode out of 
 town and headed south, the dog trotted along in the shadow 
 made by Jimmy's horse and glanced up from time to time in 
 
64 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 hopeful expectancy and great ailection. 
 
 A distant, flat pistol shot made them turn around in the saddle 
 and look back. A group o£ the leading citizens of Sharpsville 
 stood in front of the Emporium and waved hats in one last, and 
 glad farewell. Now that Jimmy had left town, they altered their 
 sudden plans and decided to continue to populate the town of 
 Sharpsville. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The Luc\ of Fools 
 
 "Did you ever see a dog like Asylum?" demanded Jimmy, look- 
 ing fondly at die mongrel as they rode slowly the second day 
 after leaving Sharpsville. 
 
 Bill shook his head emphatically. "Never, nowheres." 
 
 Jimmy turned reproachfully. "Lookit how he's foUered us." 
 
 "Follered you^ hastily corrected Bill. "He ought to. You feed 
 an' scratch him, an' he'll go anywhere for that. But he's big," 
 he conceded. 
 
 "Mostly wolf-hound," guessed Jimmy, proudly. 
 
 "He looks like a wolf — God help it — at th' end of a hard 
 winter." 
 
 "Well, he ain't yourn!" 
 
 "An' won't be, not if I can help it." 
 
 "He ain't no good, is he?" sneered Jimmy. 
 
 "I wouldn't say that, Kid," grunted Bill. "You know there's 
 good Injuns; but he looks purty healthy right now. Why didn't 
 you call him Hank? They look — Good gosh!" he exclaimed 
 as he glanced through an opening in the hills. The ring of 
 ashes that had been a corral still smoldered, and smoke arose 
 fitfully from the caved-in roof of the adobe bunkhouse, whose 
 beams, weakened by fire, had fallen under their heavy load. 
 
 "Injuns!" whispered Jimmy. "Not gone long, neither. Mebby 
 
 ' they ain't all — ain't all — " he faltered, thinking of what might 
 
 lie under the roof. Bill, nodding, rode hurriedly to the ruins, 
 
 wheeled sharply and returned, shaking his head slowly. There 
 
 was no need to explain Apache methods to his companion, and 
 
 65 
 
66 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 he spoke of the Indians instead. "They spHt. About a dozen in 
 th' big party an' about eight in th' other. It looks sorta serious, 
 Kid." 
 
 Jimmy nodded. "I reckon so. An' they're usually where no- 
 body wants 'em, anyhow. Wouldn't Sharpsville be disgusted i£ 
 they went north? But let's get out of here, 'less you got some 
 plan to bag a couple." 
 
 "I like you more all th' time," Bill smiled. "But I ain't got 
 no plan, except to move." 
 
 "Now, if they ain't funny," muttered Jimmy. "If they only 
 knowed what they was runnin' into!" 
 
 Bill turned in surprise. "I reckon I'm easy, but I'll bite: what 
 are they runnin' into?" 
 
 "I don't mean th' Injuns; I mean that wagon." replied Jimmy, 
 nodding to a canvas-covered "schooner" on the opposite hill. 
 "Come here, 'Sylum!" he thundered. Bill wheeled, and smoth- 
 ered a curse when he saw the woman. "Fools!" he snarled. 
 "Don't let her know," and he was galloping toward the new- 
 comers. 
 
 "They shore is innercent," soliloquized Jimmy, following. 
 "Just like a baby chasin' a rattler for to play with it." 
 
 Bill drew rein at the wagon and removed his sombrero. 
 "Howd'y," he said. "Where you headin' for?" he asked pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 Tom French shifted the reins. "Sharpsville. And where in — 
 thunder — is it?" 
 
 His brother stuck his head out through the opening in the 
 canvas. "Yes; where?" 
 
 "You see, we are lost," explained the woman, glancing from 
 Bill to Jimmy, whose spectacular sliding stop was purely for 
 her benefit, though she knew it not. "We left Logan four days 
 ago and have been wandering about ever since." 
 
 "Well, you ain't a-goin' to wander no more, ma'am," smiled 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 67 
 
 Bill. "We're goin' to Logan an' we'll take you as far as th' 
 Logan-Sharpsville trail," he said, wondering where it was. "You 
 must 'a' crossed it without knowin' it." 
 
 "Then, thank goodness, everything is all right. We are very 
 fortunate in having met you gentlemen and we will be very 
 grateful to you," she smiled. 
 
 "You bet!" exclaimed Tom. "But where is Sharpsville?" he 
 persisted. 
 
 "Sixty miles north," replied Jimmy, making a great effort 
 to stop with the reins what he was causing with his shielded 
 spur. His horse could cavort beautifully under persuasion. 
 "Logan, ma'am," he said, indifferent to the antics of his horse, 
 "is about thirty miles east. You must 'a' sashayed some to get 
 only this far in four days," he grinned. 
 
 "And we would be 'sashaying' yet, if I hadn't found this 
 trail," grunted Tom. There was a sudden disturbance behind 
 his shoulder and the canvas was opened wider. "You found it!" 
 snorted George. "You mean, 7 found it. Leave it to MoUie if I 
 didn't! And I told you that you were going wrong. Didn't L?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 "Hush, George," chided his sister. 
 
 "But didn't 1} Didn't I say we should have followed that 
 moth-eaten road running — er — north?" 
 
 "Did you.?" shouted Tom, turning savagely. "You told me 
 so many fool things I couldn't pick out those having a flicker 
 of intelligence hovering around their outer edges. You drove 
 two days out of four, didn't you?" 
 
 "Tom!" pleaded MoHie, earnestly. 
 
 *'Oh, let him rave. Sis," rejoined George, and he turned to 
 the punchers. "Friends, I beg thee to take charge of this itinerant 
 asylum and its charming nurse, for the good of our being and 
 the salvation of our souls. Amen." 
 
 Tom found a weak grin. "Yes, so be it. We place ourselves 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 and guide under your orders, though I reserve the right to beat 
 him to a pleasing pulp when he gets sober enough to feel it. 
 At present he recHnes ungracefully within." 
 
 "You mean you got a drunk guide, in there?" demanded Bill 
 angrily. 
 
 "He feels the yearning right away," observed George. "We'll 
 have to take turns thrashing Bacchus, I fear." 
 
 "How long's he been that way?" demanded Bill. 
 
 "I haven't known him long enough to answer that," responded 
 Tom. "I doubt if he were ever really sober. He is a peripatetic 
 distillery and I believe he lived on blotters even as a child. The 
 first day — " 
 
 " — ^hour," inserted George. 
 
 " — ^he became anxious about the condition of the rear axle 
 and examined it so frequently that by night he had slipped 
 back into the Stone Age — ^he was ossified and petrified. He 
 could neither see, eat nor talk. Strange creatures peopled his 
 imagination. He shot at one before we could get his gun away 
 from him, and it was our best skillet. How the devil he could 
 hit it is more than I know. At this moment he may be fleeing 
 from green tigers." 
 
 "Beg pardon," murmured George. "At this moment I have 
 my foot on his large, unwashed face." 
 
 "Why, George! You'll hurt him!" gasped Mollie. 
 
 "No such luck. He's beyond feeling.'* 
 
 'But you will! It isn't right to—" 
 
 "Don't bother your head about him, Sis," interrupted Tom, 
 savagely. 
 
 "Sure," grinned George. "Save your sympathy until he gets 
 sober. He'll need some then." 
 
 "Now, George, there is no use of having an argument," she 
 retorted, turning to face him. And as she turned Bill took quick 
 advantage. One finger slipped around his scalp and ended in 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 69 
 
 a jerky, lifting motion that was horribly suggestive. His other 
 hand and arm swept back and around, the gesture taking in the 
 hills; and at the same time he nodded emphatically toward the 
 rear of the wagon, where Jimmy was slowly going. Across the 
 faces of the brothers there flashed in quick succession mystifi- 
 cation, apprehensive doubt, fear and again doubt. But a sudden 
 backward jerk of Bill's head made them glance at the ruined 
 'dobe and the doubt melted into fear, and remained. George was 
 the first to reply and he spoke to his sister. "As long as you fear 
 for his facial beauty. Sis, I'll look for a better place for my foot," 
 and he disappeared behind the drooping canvas. Jimmy's words 
 were powerful, if terse, and George returned to the seat a very 
 thoughtful man. He took instant advantage of his sister's con- 
 versation with Bill and whispered hurriedly into his brother's 
 ear. A faint furrow showed momentarily on Tom's forehead, 
 but swiftly disappeared, and he calmly filled his pipe as he re- 
 plied. "Oh, he'll sober up," he said. "We poured the last of it 
 out. And I have a great deal of confidence in these two gentle- 
 men." 
 
 Bill smiled as he answered Mollie's question. "Yes, we did 
 have a bad fire," he said. "It plumb burned us out, ma'am." 
 
 "But how did it happen?" she insisted. 
 
 "Yes, yes; how did it happen — I mean it happened like this, 
 ma'am," he floundered. "You see, I — that is, we — we had some 
 trouble, ma'am." 
 
 "So I surmised," she pleasantly replied. "I presume it was a 
 fire, was it not?" 
 
 Bill squirmed at the sarcasm and hesitated, but he was saved 
 by Jimmy, who turned the corner of the wagon and swung into 
 the breach with promptness and assurance. "We fired a Greaser 
 yesterday," he explained. "An' last night th' Greaser slipped back 
 an' fired us. He got away, this time, ma'am; but we're shore 
 comin' back for him, all right." 
 
70 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "But isn't he far away by this time?" she asked in surprise. 
 
 "Greasers, ma'am, is funny animals. I could tell you lots of 
 funny things about 'em, if I had time. This particular coyote 
 is nervy an' graspin'. I reckon he was a heap disappointed when 
 he found we got out alive, an' I reckon he's in these hills waitin' 
 for us to go to Logan for supplies. When we do he'll round up 
 th' cows an' run 'em off. Savvy? I means, understand?" he 
 hurriedly explained. 
 
 "But why don't you hunt him now?" 
 
 Jimmy shook his head hopelessly. "You just don't understand 
 Greasers, ma'am," he aserted, and looked around. "Does she?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 There was a chorus of negatives, and he continued. "You see, 
 he's plannin' to steal our cows." 
 
 "That's what he's doin'," cheerfully assented Bill. 
 
 "I believe you said that before," smiled MoUie. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Bill. "He shore did!" 
 
 "Yes, I did!" snapped Jimmy, glaring at him. 
 
 "Then, for goodness' sake, are you going away and let him do 
 it?" demanded Mollie. 
 
 Jimmy grinned easily, and drawled effectively. "We're aimin' 
 to stop him, ma'am. You see," he half whispered, whereat Bill 
 leaned forward eagerly to learn the facts. "He won't show his- 
 self an' we can't track him in th' hills without gettin' picked off 
 at long range. It would be us that'd have to do th' movin', an' 
 that ain't healthy in rough country. So we starts to Logan, but 
 circles back an' gets him when he's plumb wrapped up in them 
 cows he's honin' for." 
 
 "That's it," asserted Bill, promptly and proudly. Jimmy was 
 the smoothest liar he had ever listened to. "An' th' plan is all 
 Jimmy's, too," he enthused, truthfully. 
 
 "Doubtless it is quite brilliant," she responded, "but I cer- 
 tainly wish / were that 'Greaser'!" 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 7I 
 
 "Sis!" exploded George, "I'm surprised!" 
 
 "Very well; you may remain so, if you wish. But will someone 
 tell me this: How can these gentlemen take us to Logan if they 
 are going only part way and then returning after that dense, but 
 lucky 'Greaser'?" 
 
 "I should 'a' told you, ma'am," replied Jimmy, "that th' Logan- 
 Sharpsville trail is about half way. We'll put you on it an' turn 
 back." 
 
 The strain was telling on Bill and he raised his arm. "Sorry 
 to cut oi? this interestin' conversation, but I reckon we better 
 move. Jimmy, tie that wolf-hound to th' axle — it won't make 
 him drunk — an' then go ahead an' pick a new trail to Logan. 
 Keep north of th' other, an' stay down from sky-hnes. I'll foller 
 back a ways. Get a-goin'," and he was obeyed. 
 
 Jimmy rode a quarter of a mile in advance, unjustly escaping 
 the remarks that Mollie was directitig at him, her brothers. Bill, 
 the dog and the situation in general. A backward glance as he 
 left the wagon apprised him that the dangers of scouting were 
 to be taken thankfully. He rode carelessly up the side of a hill 
 and glanced over the top, ducked quickly and backed down with 
 undignified haste. He fervently endorsed Bill's wisdom in taking 
 a different route • to Logan, for the Apaches certainly would 
 strike the other trail and follow hard; and to have run into them 
 would have been disastrous. He approached the wagon leisurely, 
 swept off his sombrero and grinned. "Reckon you could hit any 
 game?" he inquired. The brothers nodded glumly. "Well, get 
 yore guns handy." There was really no need for the order. 
 "There's lots of it, an' fresh meat '11 come in good. Don't shoot 
 till I says so," he warned, earnestly. 
 
 "O. K., Hawkeye," replied Tom coolly. 
 
 "We'll wait for the whites of their eyes, a la BunJ{er Hill," 
 replied George, uneasily, "before we wipe out the game of this 
 
72 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 large section of God's accusing and forgotten wilderness. Any 
 big game loose ? " 
 
 Jimmy nodded emphatically. "You bet! I just saw a bunch 
 of copperhead snakes that'd give you chills." The tones were 
 very suggestive and George stroked his rifle nervously and felt 
 little drops of cold water trickle from his armpits. Mollie in- 
 stinctively drew her skirts tighter around her and placed her 
 feet on the edge of the wagon box under the seat. "They can't 
 climb into the wagon, can they?" she asked apprehensively. 
 
 "Oh, no, ma'am," reassured Jimmy. "Anyhow, th' dog will keep 
 them away." He turned to the brothers. "I ain't shore about th' 
 way, so I'm goin' to see Bill. Wait till I come back," and he 
 was gone. Tom gripped the reins more firmly and waited. Noth- 
 ing short of an earthquake would move that wagon until he 
 had been told to drive on. George searched the surrounding 
 country with anxious eyes while his sister gazed fascinatedly 
 at the ground close to the wagon. She suddenly had remembered 
 that the dog was tied. 
 
 Bill drummed past, waving his arm, and swept out of sight 
 around a bend, the wagon lurching and rocking after him. Out 
 of the little valley and across a rocky plateau, down into an 
 arroyo and up its steep, further bank went the wagon at an angle 
 that forced a scream from Mollie. The dog, having broken 
 loose, ran with it, eyeing it suspiciously from time to time. Jeff 
 Purdy, the oblivious guide, slid swiftly from the front of the 
 wagon box and stopped suddenly with a thump against the 
 tailboard. George, playing rear guard, managed to hold on and 
 then with a sigh of relief sat upon the guide and jammed his 
 feet against the corners of the box. 
 
 "So he — went back for — his friend to — find the way!" gasped 
 Mollie in jerks. "What a pity — ^he did — it. I could — do better 
 myself. I'm being jolted — into a thousand — pieces!" Her hair, 
 loosening more with each jolt, uncoiled and streamed behind 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 73 
 
 her in a glorious flame o£ gold. Suddenly the wagon stopped so 
 quickly that she gasped in dismay and almost left the seat. Then 
 she screamed and jumped for the dashboard. But it was only 
 Mr. Purdy sliding back again. 
 
 Before them was the perpendicular wall of a mesa and an- 
 other lay several hundred yards away. Bill, careful of where he 
 walked, led the horses past a bowlder until the seat was even 
 with it. "Step on nothing but rock," he quietly ordered, and had 
 lifted MoUie in his arms before she knew it. Despite her pro- 
 tests he swiftly carried her to the wall and then slowly up its 
 scored face to a ledge that lay half way to the top. Back of the 
 ledge was a horizontal fissure that was almost screened from 
 the sight of anyone below. Gaining the cave, he lowered her 
 gently to the floor and stood up. "Do not move," he ordered. 
 
 Her face was crimson, streaked with white lanes of anger and 
 her eyes snapped. "What does this mean?" she demanded. 
 
 He looked at her a moment, considering. "Ma'am, I wasn't 
 goin' to tell you till I had to. But it don't make no difference 
 now. It's Injuns, close after us. Don't show yoreself." 
 
 She regarded him calmly. "I beg your pardon — if I had only 
 known — is there great danger?" 
 
 He nodded. "If you show yoreself. There's alius danger with 
 Injuns, ma'am." 
 
 She pushed the hair back from her face. "My brothers? Are 
 they coming up?" 
 
 Her courage set him afire with rage for the Apaches, but he 
 replied calmly. "Yes. Mebby th' Injuns won't know yo're here. 
 Ma'am. Me an' Jimmy'll try to lead 'em past. Just lay low an' 
 don't make no noise." 
 
 Her eyes glowed suddenly as she realized what he would try 
 to do. "But yourself, and Jimmy? Wouldn't it be better to stay 
 up here?" 
 
74 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Yo're a thoroughbred, ma'am," he repHed in a low voice. 
 "Me an' Jimmy has staked our lives more'n onct out of pure 
 devilment, with nothin' to gain. I reckon we got a reason this 
 time, th' best we ever had. I'm most proud, ma'am, to play my 
 cards as I get them." He bent swiftly and touched her head, 
 and was gone. 
 
 Meeting the brothers as they toiled up with supplies, he gave 
 them a few terse orders and went on. Taking a handful of sand 
 from behind a bowlder and scattering it with judicious care, he 
 climbed to the wagon seat and waited, glancing back at the faint 
 line that marked the arroyo's rim. In a few minutes a figure 
 popped over it and whirled toward him in a high-flung, swirling 
 cloud of dust. Overtaking the lurching wagon, Jimmy shouted 
 a query and kept on, his pony picking its way with the agility 
 and certainty of a mountain cat. The wagon, lurching this way 
 and that, first on the wheels of one side and then on those of the 
 other, bouncing and jumping at such speed that it was a miracle 
 it was not smashed to splinters, careened after the hard-riding 
 horseman. A rifle bounced over the tailboard, followed swiftly 
 by a box of cartridges and an ebony-backed mirror, which set- 
 tled on its back and glared into the sky like an angry Cyclops. 
 
 Mr. Purdy, bruised from head to foot and rapidly getting 
 sober, emitted language in jerks and grabbed at the tailboard 
 as the wagon box dropped two feet, leaving him in the air. But 
 it met him half way and jolted him almost to the canvas top. 
 He slid against the side and then jammed against the tailboard 
 again and reached for it in desperation. Another drop in the 
 trail made him miss it, and as the wagon arose again like a steel 
 spring Mr. Purdy, wondering what caused all the earthquakes, 
 arose on his hands and knees in the dust and spat angrily after 
 the careening vehicle. He scrambled unsteadily to his feet and 
 shook eager fists after the four-wheeled jumping-jack, and gave 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 75 
 
 the Recording Angel great anguish o£ mind and writer's cramp. 
 Pausing as he caught sight of the objects on the ground, he 
 stared at them thoughtfully. He had seen many things during 
 the past few days and was not to be fooled again. He looked at 
 the sky, and back to the rifle. Then he examined the mesa wall, 
 and quickly looked back at the weapon. It was still there and 
 had not moved. He closed his eyes and opened them suddenly 
 and grunted. "Huh, bet a ten spot it's real." He approached it 
 cautiously, ready to pounce on it if it moved, but it did not and 
 he picked it up. Seeing the cartridges, he secured them and then 
 gasped with fear at the glaring mirror. After a moment's thought 
 he grabbed at it and put it in his pocket just before a sudden, 
 swirling cloud of dust drove him, choking and gasping, to seek 
 the shelter of the bowlders close to the wall. When he raised 
 his head again and looked out he caught sight of a sudden move- 
 ment in the open, and promptly ducked, and swore. Apaches! 
 Twelve of them! 
 
 He had seen strange things during the last few days, and just 
 because the rifle and other objects had turned out to be real was 
 no reason that he should absolutely trust his eyes in this particu- 
 lar instance. There was a limit, which in this case was Apaches 
 in full war dress; so he arose swaggeringly and fired at the last, 
 and saw the third from the last slide limply from his horse. As 
 the rest paused and half of them wheeled and started back he 
 rubbed his eyes in amazement, damned himself for a fool and 
 sprinted for the mesa wall, up which he climbed with the frantic 
 speed of fear. He was favored by the proverbial luck of fools 
 and squirmed over a wide ledge without being hit. There was 
 but one way to get him and he knew he could pick them off 
 as fast as they showed above the rim. He rolled over and a look 
 of mystification crept across his face. Digging into his pockets 
 to see what the bumps were, he produced the mirror and a flask. 
 
76 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 The former he placed carelessly against the wall and the latter he 
 raised hastily to his lips. The mirror glared out over the plain, its 
 rays constantly interrupted by Mr. Purdy's cautious movements 
 as he settled himself more comfortably for defense. 
 
 A bullet screamed up the face of the wall and he flattened, 
 intently watching the rim. Chancing to glance over the plain, 
 he noticed that the wagon was still moving, but slowly, while 
 far to the soudi two horsemen galloped back toward the mesa 
 on a wide circle, six Apaches tearing to intercept them before 
 they could gain cover. "I was shore wise to leave th' schooner," 
 he grinned. *'I alius kno\y when to jump," he said, and then 
 swung the rifle toward the rim as a faint sound reached his 
 ears. Its smoke blotted out the piercing black eyes that looked 
 for an instant oyer the edge and found eternity, and Mr. Purdy 
 grinned when the sound of impact floated up from below. "They 
 won't try that no more," he grunted, and forthwith dozed in 
 a drunken stupor. A sober man might have been tempted to 
 try a shot over the rim, and would have been dead before he 
 could have pulled the trigger. Mr. Purdy was again favored by 
 luck. 
 
 Leaving two braves to watch him, the other two searched 
 for a better way up the wall. 
 
 The race over the plain was interesting but not deadly or very 
 dangerous for Bill and Jimmy. Armed with Winchesters and 
 wornout Spencer carbines and not able to get close to the two 
 punchers, the Apaches did no harm, and suffered because of 
 Mr. Cassidy's use of a new, long-range Sharps. "You alius 
 want to keep Injuns on long range, Kid," Bill remarked as 
 another fell from its horse. The shot was a lucky one, but just 
 as effective. "They ain't worth a darn figurin' windage an' th' 
 drift of a fast-movin' target, 'specially when it's goin' over 
 ground like this. It's a white man's weapon, Jimmy. Them 
 repeaters ain't no good for over five hundred; they don't use 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 77 
 
 enough powder. An' I reckon them Spencers was wore out long 
 ago. They ain't even shootin' close." He whirled past the pro- 
 jecting spur o£ the mesa and leaped from his horse, Jimmy fol- 
 lowing quickly. Three hundred yards down the canyon two 
 Apaches showed themselves for a moment as they squirmed 
 around a projection high up on the wall and not more than ten 
 feet below the ledge. The expressions which they carried into 
 eternity were those of great surprise. The two who kept Mr. 
 Purdy treed on his ledge saw their friends fall, and squirmed 
 swiftly toward their horses. It could only be cowpunchers enter- 
 ing the canyon at the other end and they preferred the company 
 of their friends until they could determine numbers. When half 
 way to the animals they changed their minds and crept toward 
 the scene of action. Mr. Purdy, feeling for his flask, knocked it 
 over the ledge and looked over after it in angry dismay. Then 
 he shouted and pointed down. Bill and Jimmy stared for a 
 moment, nodded emphatically, and separated hastily, Mr. Purdy 
 ducked and hugged the ledge with renewed affection. Glancing 
 around, he was almost blinded by the mirror and threw it 
 angrily into the canyon, and then rubbed his eyes again. Far 
 away on the plain was a moving blot which he believed to be 
 horsemen. He fired his rifle into the air on a chance and turned 
 again to the events taking place close at hand. "Other way, 
 Hombre!" he warned, and Jimmy obeying, came upon the 
 Apache from the rear, and saved Bill's life. At hide and seek 
 among rocks the Apache has no equal, but here they did not 
 have a chance with Mr. Purdy calling the moves in a language 
 they did not well understand. A bird's-eye view is a distinct 
 asset and Mr. Purdy was playing his novel game with delighted 
 interest and a plainsman's instinct. Consumed with rage, the 
 remaining Indian whirled around and sent the guide reeling 
 against the wall and then down in a limp heap. But Bill paid 
 the debt and continued to worm among the rocks. 
 
78 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 There was a sudden report to the westward and Jimmy stag- 
 gered and dived behind a bowlder. The other four, havmg dis- 
 covered the trick that had been played upon them on the other 
 side of the mesa, were anxious to pay for it. Bill hurriedly 
 crawled to Jimmy's side as the youth brushed the blood out of 
 his eyes and picked up his rifle. "It's th' others, Kid," said Bill. 
 "An' they're gettin' close. Don't move an inch, for this is their 
 game." A roar above him made him glance upward and swear 
 angrily. "Now they've gone an' done it! After all we've done to 
 hide *em!" Another shot from the ledge and a hot, answering 
 fire broke out from below. "My gosh!" said a voice, weakly. 
 Bill shook his head. "That was Tom," he muttered. "Come on. 
 Kid," he growled. "We got to drive 'em out, cuss it!" They 
 were too interested in picking their way in the direction of the 
 Apaches to glance at Mr. Purdy's elevated perch or they would 
 have seen him on his knees at the very edge making frantic 
 motions with his one good arm. He was facing the east and the 
 plain. Beaming with joy, he waved his arm toward Bill and 
 Jimmy, shouted instructions in a weak voice, that barely carried 
 to the canyon floor, and collapsed, his duty done. 
 
 Bill was surprised fifteen minutes later to hear strange voices 
 calling to him from the rear and he turned like a flash, his Colt 
 swinging first. "Well, I'm dog — !" he ejaculated. Four punchers 
 were crawling toward him. "Glad to see you," he said, foolishly. 
 
 "I reckon so," came the smiling reply. "That lookin' glass of 
 yourn shore bothered us. We couldn't read it, but we didn't have 
 to. Where are they?" 
 
 "Plumb ahead, som'ers. Four of 'em," Bill replied. "There's 
 two tenderfeet up on that ledge, with their sister. We was gettin' 
 plumb worried for 'em." 
 
 "Not them as hired Whiskey Jeff for to guide 'em.?'* asked 
 Dickinson, the leader. 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 79 
 
 "Th' same. But how'a heck did Logan ever come to let 'em 
 start?" demanded Bill, angrily. 
 
 "We didn't pay no attention to th' rumors that has been flyin' 
 around for th' last two months. Nobody had seen so signs o£ 
 'em," answered the Logan man. "We didn't reckon there was 
 no danger till last night, when we learned they hadn't showed 
 up in Sharpsville, nor been seen anywheres near th' trail. Then 
 we remembers Jefl's habits, an' while we debates it, we gets word 
 that th' Injuns was seen North of Cook's ranch yesterday. We 
 moves sudden. Here comes th' boys back — ^I reckon th' job's 
 done. They're a fine crowd, a'right. You should 'a' seen 'em cut 
 loose an' raise th' dust when we saw that lookin' glass a-winkin'. 
 We couldn't read it none, but we didn't have to. We just cut 
 loose." 
 
 "Lookin' glass!" exclaimed Bill, staring. "That's twice you've 
 mentioned it. What glass? We didn't have no lookin' glass, 
 nohow." 
 
 "Well, Whiskey Je£E had one, a'right. An' he shore keeps her 
 a-talkin', too. Ain't it a cussed funny thing that a feller that's 
 got a hard-boiled face like his'n would go an' tote a lookin' 
 glass around with him? We never done reckoned he was that 
 vain." 
 
 Bill shook his head and gave it up. He glanced above him 
 at the ledge and started for it as Jimmy pushed up to him 
 through the little crowd. "Hello, Kid," Bill smiled. "Come on up 
 an' help me get her down," he invited. Jimmy shook his head 
 and refused. "Ah, what's th' use? She'll only gimme heck for 
 handin' her that blamed Greaser lie," he snapped. "An' you 
 can do it alone — didn't you tote her up th' cussed wall?" It had 
 been a long-range view, but Jimmy had seen it, just the same, 
 and resented it. 
 
 Bill turned and looked at him. "Well, I'm cussed!" he mut- 
 
8o THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 tered, and forthwith cHmbed the wall. A few minutes later 
 he stuck his head over the rim of the ledge and looked down 
 upon a good-natured crowd that lounged in the shadow of the 
 wall and told each other all about it. Jimmy was the important 
 center of interest and he was flushed with pride. It would take 
 a great deal to make him cut short his hour of triumph and 
 take him away from the admiring circle that hedged him in 
 and listened intently to his words. "Yessir, by gosh," he was 
 saying, "just then I looks over th' top of a li'l hill an' what I 
 sees makes me duck a-plenty. There was a dozen of 'em, stringin' 
 south. I knowed they'd shore hit that — " 
 
 "Hey, Kid," said a humorous voice from above. Jimmy glanced 
 up, vexed at the interruption. "Well, what?" he growled. Bill 
 grinned down at him in a manner that bid fair to destroy the 
 dignity that Jimmy had striven so hard to build up. "She says 
 all right for you. She's done let you down easy for that whoppin' 
 big Greaser lie you went an' spun her. She wants to know ain't 
 you comin' up so she can talk to you? How about it?" 
 
 "Go on, Kid," urged a low and friendly voice at his elbow. 
 
 "Betcha!" grinned another. "Wish it was me! I done seen her 
 in Logan." 
 
 Jimmy loosed a throbbing phrase, but obeyed, whereat Bill 
 withdrew his grinning face from the sight of the grinning faces 
 below. "He's comin' ma'am; but he's shore plumb bashful." He 
 looked down the canyon and laughed. "There they go to get 
 Purdy off'n his perch. I'm natchurally goin' to lick anybody as 
 tries to thrash that man," he muttered, glancing at George as 
 he passed Jimmy on the ledge. George grinned and shook his 
 head. "I'm going to give him the spree of his «inful, long life," 
 he promised, thoughtfully. 
 
 Far to the west, silhouetted for a moment against the crimson 
 sunset, appeared a row of mounted figures. It looked long and 
 
THE LUCK OF FOOLS 8l 
 
 searchingly at the mesa and slowly disappeared from view. Bill 
 saw it and pointed it out to Lefty Dickinson. "There's th' other 
 eight," he said, smiling cheerfully. "If it wasn't for Whiskey 
 Jeff's lookin' glass that eight'd mean a whole lot to us. We've 
 had the luck of fools!" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Hopalong's Hop 
 
 Having sent Jimmy to the Bar-20 with a message for Buck 
 Peters and seen the tenderfeet start for Sharpsville on the right 
 trail and under escort, Bill Cassidy set out for the Crazy M 
 ranch, by way of Clay Gulch. He was to report on the condition 
 of some cattle that Buck had been offered cheap and he was 
 anxious to get back to the ranch. It was in the early evening 
 when he reached Clay Gulch and rode slowly down the dusty, 
 shack-lined street in search of a hotel. The town and the street 
 were hardly different from other towns and streets that he had 
 seen all over the cow-country, but nevertheless he felt uneasy. 
 The air seemed to be charged with danger, and it caused him 
 to sit even more erect in the saddle and assume his habit of in- 
 different alertness. The first man he saw confirmed the feeling 
 by staring at him insolently and sneering in a veiled way at 
 the low-hung tied-down holsters that graced Bill's thighs. The 
 guns proclaimed the gun-man as surely as it would have been 
 proclaimed by a sign; and it appeared that gun-men were not 
 at that time held in high esteem by the citizens of Clay Gulch. 
 Bill was growing fretful and peevish when the man, with a 
 knowing shake of his head, turned away and entered the harness 
 shop. "Trouble's brewin' somewheres around," muttered Bill, 
 as he went on. He had singled out the first of two hotels when 
 another citizen, turning the corner, stopped in his tracks and 
 looked Bill over with a deliberate scrutiny that left but little 
 to the imagination. He frowned and started away, but Bill 
 spurred forward, determined to make him speak. 
 
 82 
 
hopalong's hop 83 
 
 "Might I inquire i£ this is Clay Gulch?" he asked, in tones 
 that made the other wince. 
 
 "You might," was the reply. "It is," added the citizen, "an' 
 th' Crazy M lays fifteen mile west." Having complied with the 
 requirements of common politeness the citizen of Clay Gulch 
 turned and walked into the nearest saloon. Bill squinted after 
 him and shook his head in indecision. 
 
 "He wasn't guessin', neither. He shore knowed where I wants 
 to go. I reckon Oleson must 'a' said he was expectin' me." He 
 would have been somewhat surprised had he known that Mr. 
 Oleson, foreman of the Crazy M, had said nothing to anyone 
 about the expected visitor, and that no one, not even on the 
 ranch, knew of it. Mr. Oleson was blessed with taciturnity to 
 a remarkable degree; and he had given up expecting to see 
 anyone from Mr. Peters. 
 
 As Bill dismounted in front of the "Victoria" he noticed that 
 two men further down the street had evidently changed their 
 conversation and were examining him with frank interest and 
 discussing him earnestly. As a matter of fact they had not 
 changed the subject of their conversation, but had simply fitted 
 him in the place of a certain unknown. Before he had arrived 
 they discussed the abstract; now they could talk in the concrete. 
 One of them laughed and called softly over his shoulder, where- 
 upon a third man appeared in the door, wiping his lips with 
 the back of a hairy, grimy hand, and focused evil eyes upon the 
 innocent stranger. He grunted contemptuously and, turning on 
 his heel, went back to his liquid pleasures. Bill covertly felt of 
 his clothes and stole a glance at his horse, but could see nothing 
 wrong. He hesitated: should he saunter over for information or 
 wait until the matter was brought to his attention.? A sound in- 
 side the hotel made him choose the latter course, for his stomach 
 threatened to become estranged and it simply howled for food. 
 
84 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Pushing open the door he dropped his saddle in a corner and 
 leaned against the bar. 
 
 "Have one with me to get acquainted?" he invited. "Then 
 I'll eat, for I'm hungry. An' I'll use one of yore beds to-night, 
 too." 
 
 The man behind the bar nodded cheerfully and poured out 
 his drink. As he raised the liquor he noticed Bill's guns and 
 carelessly let the glass return to the bar. 
 
 "Sorry, sir," he said coldly. "I'm hall out of grub, the fire's 
 hout, hand the beds are taken. But mebby 'Awley, down the 
 strite, can tyke care of you." 
 
 Bill was looking at him with an expression that said much 
 and he slowly extended his arm and pointed to the untasted 
 liquor. 
 
 "Alius finish what you start, English," he said slowly and 
 clearly. "When a man goes to take a drink with me, and sud- 
 denly changes his mind, why I gets riled. I don't know what 
 ails this town, an' I don't care; I don't give a cuss about yore 
 grub an' your beds; but if you don't drink that liquor you 
 poured out to drink, why I'll natchurally shove it down yore 
 British throat so cussed hard it'll strain yore neck. Get to it!" 
 
 The proprietor glanced apprehensively from the glass to Bill, 
 then on to the business-like guns and back to the glass, and the 
 liquor disappeared at a gulp. "W'y," he explained, aggrieved. 
 "There hain't no call for to get riled hup like that, strainger. 
 I bloody well forgot it." 
 
 "Then don't you go an' 'bloody well' forget this: Th' next 
 time I drops in here for grub an' a bed, you have 'em both, an' 
 be plumb polite about it. Do you get me?" he demanded icily. 
 
 The proprietor stared at the angry puncher as he gathered 
 up his saddle and rifle and started for the door. He turned to 
 put away the bottle and the sound came near being unfortunate 
 for him. Bill leaped sideways, turning while in the air and 
 
hopalong's hop 85 
 
 landed on his feet like a cat, his left hand gripping a heavy Colt 
 that covered the short ribs of the frightened proprietor before 
 that worthy could hardly realize the move, 
 
 "Oh, all right," growled Bill, appearing to be disappointed. 
 "I reckoned mebby you was gamblin' on a shore thing. I feels 
 impelled to offer you my sincere apology; you ain't th' kind as 
 would even gamble on a shore thing. You'll see me again," he 
 promised. The sound of his steps on the porch ended in a thud 
 as he leaped to the ground and then he passed the window lead- 
 ing his horse and scowling darkly. The proprietor mopped his 
 head and reached twice for the glass before he found it. "Gawd, 
 what a bloody 'eathen," he grunted. " 'E won't be as easy as 
 the lawst was, blime 'im." 
 
 Mr. Hawley looked up and frowned, but there was something 
 in the suspicious eyes that searched his face that made him 
 cautious. Bill dropped his load on the floor and spoke sharply. 
 "I want supper an' a bed. You ain't full up, an' you ain't out of 
 grub. So I'm goin' to get 'em both right here. Yes?" 
 
 "You shore called th' turn, stranger," replied Mr. Hawley in 
 his Sunday voice. "That's what I'm in business for. An' business 
 is shore dull these days." 
 
 He wondered at the sudden smile that illuminated Bill's face 
 and half guessed it; but he said nothing and went to work. 
 When Bill pushed back from the table he was more at peace 
 with the world and he treated, closely watching his companion. 
 Mr. Hawley drank with a show of pleasure and forthwith 
 brought out cigars. He seated himself beside his guest and sighed 
 with relief. 
 
 "I'm plumb tired out," he offered. An' I ain't done much. 
 You look tired, too. Come a long way?" 
 
 "Logan," replied Bill. "Do you know where I'm goin'? An* 
 why?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Hawley looked surprised and almost answered the first 
 
86 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 part of the question correctly before he thought. "Well," he 
 grinned, "if I could tell where strangers was goin', an' why, I 
 wouldn't never ask 'em where they come from. An' I'd shore 
 hunt up a li'l game of faro, you bet!" 
 
 Bill smiled. "Well, that might be a good idea. But, say, what 
 ails this town, anyhow?" 
 
 "What ails it? Hum! Why, lack of money for one thing; 
 scenery, for another; wimmin, for another. Oh, heck, I ain't 
 got time to tell you what ails it. Why?" 
 
 "Is there anything th' matter with me?" 
 
 "I don't know you well enough for to answer that kerrect." 
 
 "Well, would you turn around an' stare at me an' seem pained 
 an' hurt? Do I look funny? Has anybody put a sign on my 
 back?" 
 
 "You looks all right to me. What's th' matter?" 
 
 "Nothin', yet," reflected Bill slowly. "But there will be, mebby. 
 You was mentionin' faro. Here's a turn you can call: somebody 
 in this wart of a two-by-nothin' town is goin' to run plumb into 
 a big surprise. There'll mebby be a loud noise an' some smoke 
 where it starts from; an' a li'l round hole where it stops. When 
 th' curious delegation now holdin' forth on th' street slips in 
 here after I'm in bed, an' makes inquiries about me, you can 
 tell 'em that. An' if Mr. — Mr. Victoria drops in casual, tell him 
 I'm cleanin' my guns. Now then, show me where I'm goin' to 
 sleep." 
 
 Mr. Hawley very carefully led the way into the hall and 
 turned into a room opposite the bar. "Here she is, stranger," 
 he said, stepping back. But Bill was out in the hall listening. 
 He looked into the room and felt oppressed. 
 
 "No she ain't," he answered, backing his intuition. "She is 
 upstairs, where there is a li'l breeze. By th' Lord," he muttered 
 under his breath. "This is some puzzle." He mounted the stairs 
 shaking his head thoughtfully. "It shore is, it shore is." 
 
hopalong's hop 87 
 
 The next morning when Bill whirled up to the Crazy M 
 bunkhouse and dismounted before the door a puncher was 
 emerging. He started to say something, noticed Bill's guns and 
 went on without a word. Bill turned around and looked after 
 him in amazement. "Well, what th' devil!" he growled. Before 
 he could do anything, had he wished to, Mr. Oleson stepped 
 quickly from the house, nodded and hurried toward the ranch 
 house, motioning for Bill to follow. Entering the house, the fore- 
 man of the Crazy M waited impatiently for Bill to get inside, 
 and then hurriedly closed the door. 
 
 "They've got onto it some way," he said, his taciturnity gone; 
 "but that don't make no difference if you've got th' sand. I'll 
 pay you one hundred an' fifty a month, furnish yore cayuses 
 an' feed you. I'm losin' more'n two hundred cows every month 
 an' can't get a trace of th' thieves. Harris, Marshal of Clay 
 Gulch, is stumped, too. He can't move without proof; you can. 
 Th' first man to get is George Thomas, then his brother Art. 
 By that time you'll know how things lay. George Thomas is 
 keepin' out of Harris' way. He killed a man last week over in 
 Tuxedo an' Harris wants to take him over there. He'll not help 
 you, so don't ask him to." Before Bill could reply or recover 
 from his astonishment Oleson continued and described several 
 men. "Look out for ambushes. It'll be th' hardest game you ever 
 went up ag'in, an' if you ain't got th' sand to go through with it, 
 say so." 
 
 Bill shook his head. "I got th' sand to go through with any- 
 thin' I starts, but I don't start here. I reckon you got th' wrong 
 man. I come up here to look over a herd for Buck Peters; an' 
 here you go shovin' wages like that at me. When I tells Buck 
 what I've been offered he'll fall dead." He laughed. "Now I 
 knows th' answer to a lot of things. 
 
 "Here, here!" he exclaimed as Oleson began to rave. "Don't 
 you go an' get all het up like that. I reckon I can keep my face 
 
8b THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 shut. An' lemme observe in yore hat-like ear that if th* rest o£ 
 this gang is Hke th' samples I seen in town, a good gun-man 
 would shore be robbin' you to take all that money for th' job. 
 Fifty a month, for two months, would be a-plenty." 
 
 Oleson's dismay was fading, and he accepted the situation 
 with a grim smile. "You don't know them fellers," he replied. 
 "They're a bad lot, an' won't stop at nothin'." 
 
 "All right. Let's take a look at them cows. I want to get home 
 soon as I can." 
 
 Oleson shook his h^ad. "I gave you up, an' when I got a better 
 offer I let 'em go. I'm sorry you had th' ride for nothin', but I 
 couldn't get word to you." 
 
 Bill led the way in silence back to the bunk house and 
 mounted his horse. "All right," he nodded. "I shore was late. 
 Well, I'll be goin'." 
 
 "That gun-man is late, too," said Oleson. "Mebby he ain't 
 comin'. You want th' job at my figgers?" 
 
 "Nope. I got a better job, though it don't pay so much money. 
 It's steady, an' a hull lot cleaner. So-long," and Bill loped away, 
 closely watched by Shorty Allen from the corral. And after an 
 interval, Shorty mounted and swung out of the other gate of 
 the corral and rode along the bottom of an arroyo until he felt 
 it was safe to follow Bill's trail. When Shorty turned back he 
 was almost to town, and he would not have been pleased had 
 he known that Bill knew of the trailing for the last ten miles. 
 Bill had doubled back and was within a hundred yards of 
 Shorty when that person turned ranchward. 
 
 "Huh! I must be popular," grunted Bill. "I reckon I will stay 
 in Clay Gulch till t'morrow mornin'; an' at the Victoria," he 
 grinned. Then he laughed heartily. "Victoria! I got a better 
 name for it than that, all right." 
 
 When he pulled up before the Victoria and looked in the 
 proprietor scowled at him, which made Bill frown as he went 
 
hopalong's hop 89 
 
 on to Hawley's. Putting his horse in the corral he carried his 
 saddle and rifle into the barroom and looked around. There 
 was no one in sight, and he smiled. Putting the saddle and rifle 
 back in one corner under the bar and covering them with gunny 
 sacks he strolled to the Victoria and entered through the rear 
 door. The proprietor reached for his gun but reconsidered in 
 time and picked up a glass, which he polished with exaggerated 
 care. There was something about the stranger that obtruded 
 upon his peace of mind and confidence. He would let some one 
 else try the stranger out. 
 
 Bill walked slowly forward, by force of will ironing out the 
 humor in his face and assuming his sternest expression. "I want 
 supper an' a bed, an' don't forget to be plumb polite," he 
 rumbled, sitting down by the side of a small table in such a 
 manner that it did not in the least interfere with the movement 
 of his right hand. The observing proprietor observed and gave 
 strict attention to the preparation of the meal. The gun-man, 
 glancing around, slowly arose and walked carelessly to a chair 
 that had blank wall behind it, and from where he could watch 
 windows and doors. 
 
 When the meal was placed before him he glanced up. "Go 
 over there an' sit down," he ordered, motioning to a chair that 
 stood close to the rifle that leaned against the wall. "Loaded?" 
 he demanded. The proprietor could only nod. "Then sling it 
 acrost yore knees an' keep still. Well, start movin'." 
 
 The proprietor walked as though he were in a trance but 
 when he seated himself and reached for the weapon a sudden 
 flash of understanding illumined him and caused a cold sweat 
 to bead upon his wrinkled brow. He put the weapon down 
 again, but the noise made Bill look up. 
 
 "Acrost yore knees," growled the puncher, and the proprietor 
 hastily obeyed, but when it touched his legs he let loose of it as 
 though it were hot. He felt a great awe steal through his fear, 
 
 3W^ 
 
90 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 for here was a gun-man such as he had read about. This man 
 gave him all the best of it just to tempt him to make a break. 
 The rifle had been in his hands, and while it was there the gun- 
 man was calmly eating with both hands on the table and had 
 not even looked up until the noise of the gun made him! 
 
 "My Gawd, 'e must be a wizard with 'em. I 'opes I don't 
 forget!" With the thought came a great itching of his kneecap; 
 then his foot itched so as to make him squirm and wear horrible 
 expressions. Bill, chancing to glance up carelessly, caught sight 
 of the expressions and growled, whereupon they became angelic. 
 Fearing that he could no longer hold in the laughter that tor- 
 tured him. Bill arose. 
 
 "Shoulder, arms!" he ordered, crisply. The gun went up with 
 trained precision. "Been a sojer," thought Bill. "Carry, arms! 
 About, face! To a bedroom, march!" He followed, holding his 
 sides, and stopped before the room. "This th' best.''" he de- 
 manded. "Well, it ain't good enough for me. About, face! For- 
 ward, march! Column, left! Ground, arms! Fall out." Tossing 
 a coin on the floor as payment for the supper Bill turned sharply 
 and went out without even a backward glance. 
 
 The proprietor wiped the perspiration from his face and 
 walked unsteadily to the bar, where he poured out a generous 
 drink and gulped it down. Peering out of the door to see if the 
 coast was clear, he scurried across the street and told his troubles 
 to the harness-maker. 
 
 Bill leaned weakly against Hawley's and laughed until the 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. Pushing weakly from the building 
 he returned to the Victoria to play another joke on its proprie- 
 tor. Finding it vacant he slipped upstairs and hunted for a room 
 to suit him. The bed was the softest he had seen for a long time 
 and it lured him into removing his boots and chaps and guns, 
 after he had propped a chair against the door as a warning 
 signal, and stretching out flat on his back, he prepared to enjoy 
 solid comfort. It was not yet dark, and as he was not sleepy he 
 
HOP ALONG S HOP 9I 
 
 lay there thinking over the events of the past twenty-four hours, 
 often laughing so hard as to shake the bed. What a reputation 
 he would have in the morning! The softness of the bed got in 
 its work and he fell asleep, for how long he did not know; but 
 when he awakened it was dark and he heard voices coming up 
 from below. They came from the room he had refused to take. 
 One expression banished all thoughts of sleep from his mind 
 and he listened intently. '"Red-headed Irish gun-man.' Why, 
 they means me! 'Make him go to blazes.' I don't reckon I'd 
 do that for axiybody, even my friends." 
 
 "I tried to give 'im this room, but 'e wouldn't tyke it," pro- 
 tested the proprietor, hurriedly. " 'E says the bloody room wasn't 
 good enough for 'im, hand 'e marches me out hand makes off. 
 Likely 'e 's in 'Awley's!' 
 
 "No, he ain't," growled a strange voice. "You've gone an' 
 bungled th' whole thing." 
 
 "But I s'y I didn't, you know. I tries to give 'im this werry 
 room, George, but 'e wouldn't 'ave it. D'y think I wants 'im 
 running haround this blooming town? 'E's worse nor the other, 
 hand Gawd knows 'e was bad enough. 'E's a cold-blooded beg- 
 gar, 'e isl" 
 
 "You missed yore chance," grunted the other. "Wish / had 
 that gun you had." 
 
 "I was wishing to Gawd you did," retorted the proprietor. "It 
 never looked so bloody big before, blast 'is 'idel" 
 
 "Well, his cayuse is in Hawley's corral," said the first speaker. 
 "If I ever finds Hawley kept him under cover I'll blow his head 
 off. Come on; we'll get Harris first. He ought to be gettin' close 
 to town if he got th' word I sent over to Tuxedo. He won't let 
 us call him. He's a man of his word." 
 
 "He'll be here, all right. Fred an' Tom is watchin' his shack, 
 an' we better take th' other end of town — there's no tellin' how 
 he'll come in now," suggested Art Thomas. "But I wish I 
 knowed where that cussed gun-man is." 
 
92 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 As they went out Bill, his chaps on and his boots in his hand, 
 crept down the stairs, and stopped as he neared the hall door. 
 The proprietor was coming back. The others were outside, go- 
 ing to their stations and did not hear the choking gasp that the 
 proprietor made as a pair of strong hands reached out and throt- 
 tled him. When he came to he was lying face down on a bed, 
 gagged and bound by a rope that cut into his flesh with every 
 movement. Bill, waiting a moment, slipped into the darkness 
 and was swallowed up. He was looking for Mr. Harris, and 
 looking eagerly. 
 
 The moon arose and bathed the dusty street and its crude 
 shacks in silver, cunningly and charitably hiding its ugliness; 
 and passed on as the skirmishing rays of the sun burst into the 
 sky in close and eternal pursuit. As the dawn spread swiftly and 
 long, thin shadows sprang across the sandy street, there arose 
 from the dissipated darkness close to the wall of a building an 
 armed man, weary and slow from a tiresome vigil. Another 
 emerged from behind a pile of boards that faced the marshal's 
 abode, while down the street another crept over the edge of a 
 dried-out water course and swore softly as he stood up slowly 
 to flex away the stiffness of cramped limbs. Of vain speculation 
 he was empty; he had exhausted all the whys and hows long 
 before and now only muttered discontentedly as he reviewed 
 the hours of fruitless waiting. And he was uneasy; it was not 
 like Harris to take a dare and swallow his own threats without 
 a struggle. He looked around apprehensively, shrugged his 
 shoulders and stalked behind the shacks across from the two 
 hotels. 
 
 Another figure crept from the protection of Hawley's corral 
 like a slinking coyote, gun in hand and nervously alert. He vi^as 
 just in time to escape the challenge that would have been hurled 
 at him by Hawley, himself, had that gentleman seen the skulker 
 as he grouchily opened one shutter and scowled sleepily at the 
 kindling eastern sky. Mr. Hawley was one of those who go to 
 
HOPALONGS HOP 93 
 
 bed with regret and get up with remorse, and his temper was 
 always easily disturbed before breakfast. The skulker, safe from 
 the remorseful gentleman's eyes, and gun, kept close to the 
 building as he walked and was again fortunate, for he had 
 passed when Mr. Hawley strode heavily into his kitchen to 
 curse the cold, rusty stove, a rite he faithfully performed each 
 morning. Across the street George and Art Thomas walked to 
 meet each other behind the row of shacks and stopped near the 
 harness shop to hold a consultation. The subject was so interest- 
 ing that for a few moments they were oblivious to all else. 
 
 A man softly stepped to the door of the Victoria and watched 
 the two across the street with an expression on his face that 
 showed his smiling contempt for them and their kind. He was 
 a small man, so far as physical measurements go, but he was 
 lithe, sinewy and compact. On his opened vest, hanging slovenly 
 and blinking in the growing light as if to prepare itself for the 
 blinding glare of midday, glinted a five-pointed star of nickel, 
 a lowly badge that every rural community knows and holds in an 
 awe far above the metal or design. Swinging low on his hip 
 gleamed the ivory butt of a silver-plated Colt, the one weakness 
 that his vanity seized upon. But under the silver and its engrav- 
 ing, above and before the cracked and stained ivory handles, lay 
 the power of a great force; and under the casing of the marshal's 
 small body lay a virile manhood, strong in courage and determi- 
 nation. Toby Harris watched, smilingly; he loved the dramatic 
 and found keen enjoyment in the situation. Out of the corner of 
 his eye he saw a carelessly dressed cowpuncher slouching indo- 
 lently along close to the buildings on the other side of the street 
 with the misleading sluggishness of a panther. The red hair, 
 kissed by the slanting rays of the sun where it showed beneath 
 the soiled sombrero, seemed to be a flaming warning; the half- 
 closed eyes, squinting under the brim of the big hat, missed 
 nothing as they darted from point to point. 
 
 The marshal stepped silently to the porch and then on to the 
 
94 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 ground, his back to the rear o£ the hotel, waiting to be discov- 
 ered. He had been in sight perhaps a minute. The cowpuncher 
 made a sudden, eye-baffling movement and smoke whirled 
 about his hips. Fred, turning the corner behind the marshal, 
 dropped his gun with a scream of rage and pain and crashed 
 against the window in sudden sickness, his gun-hand hanging 
 by a tendon from his wrist. The marshal stepped quickly for- 
 ward at the shot and for an instant gazed deeply into the eyes 
 of the startled rustlers. Then his Colt leaped out and crashed a 
 fraction of a second before the brothers iired. George Thomas 
 reeled, caught sight of the puncher and fired by instinct. Bill, 
 leaving Harris to watch the other side of the street, was watching 
 the rear corner of the Victoria and was unprepared for the shot. 
 He crumpled and dropped and then the marshal, enraged, ended 
 the rustler's earthly career in a stream of flame and smoke. Tom, 
 turning into the street further down, wheeled and dashed for 
 his horse, and Art, having leaped behind the harness shop, turned 
 and fled for his life. He had nearly reached his horse and was 
 going at top speed with great leaps when the prostrate man in 
 the street, raising on his elbow, emptied his gun after him, the 
 five shots sounding almost as one. Art Thomas arose convul- 
 sively, steadied himself and managed to gain the saddle. Harris 
 looked hastily down the street and saw a cloud of dust racing 
 northward, and grunted. "Let them go — they won't never come 
 back no more." Running to the cowpuncher he raised him after 
 a hurried examination of the wounded thigh. "Hop along, Cas- 
 sidy," he smiled in encouragement. "You'll be a better man with 
 one good laig than th' whole gang was all put together." 
 
 The puncher smiled faintly as Hawley, running to them, 
 helped him toward his hotel. "Th' bone is plumb smashed. I 
 reckon I'll hop along through life. It'll be hop along, for me, all 
 right. That's my name, all right. Huh! Hopalong Cassidy! But 
 I didn't go to blazes, did I, Harris?" he grinned bravely. 
 
 And thus was born a nickname that found honor and fame 
 
HOP ALONG S HOP 95 
 
 in the cow-country — a name that stood for loyalty, courage and 
 most amazing gun-play, I have Red's word for this, and the 
 endorsement of those who knew him at the time. And from 
 this on, up to the time he died, and after, we will forsake "Bill" 
 and speak of him as Hopalong Cassidy, a cowpuncher who lived 
 and worked in the days when the West was wild and rough 
 and lawless; and who, like others, through the medium of the 
 only court at hand, Judge Colt, enforced justice as he beUeved 
 it should be enforced. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 "Dealing the Odd" 
 
 Faro-bank is an expensive game when luck turns a cold shoul- 
 der on any player, and "going broke" is as easy as ruffling a 
 deck. When a man finds he has two dollars left out of more 
 than two months' pay and that it has taken him less than thirty 
 minutes to get down to that mark, he cannot be censored much 
 if he rails at that Will-o'-the-wisp, the Goddess of Luck. Put 
 him a good ten days' ride from home, accquaintances and 
 money and perhaps he will be justified in adding heat in plenty 
 to his denunciation. He had played to win when he should have 
 coppered, coppered when he should have played to win, he 
 had backed both ends against the middle and played the high 
 card as well — but only when his bets were small did the turn 
 show him what he wanted to see. Perhaps the case-keeper had 
 hoodooed him, for he never did have any luck at cards when a 
 tow-headed man had a finger in the game. 
 
 Fuming impotently at his helplessness, a man limped across 
 the main street in Colby, constrained and a little awkward in 
 his new store clothes and new, squeaking boots that were clumsy 
 with stiffness. The only things on him that he could regard as 
 old and tried friends were the battered sombrero and the heavy, 
 walnut-handled Colt's .45 which rubbed comfortably with each 
 movement of his thigh. The weapon, to be sure, had a ready 
 cash value — but he could not afford to part with it. The horse 
 belonged to his ranch, and the saddle must not be sold; to part 
 with it would be to lose his mark of caste and become a walking 
 man, which all good punchers despised. 
 
 "Ten days from home, knowin' nobody, two measly dollars 
 
 96 
 
DEALING THE ODD 97 
 
 in my pocket, an' luck dead agin me," he growled with pug- 
 nacious pessimism. "Oh, I'm a wise old bird, I am! A heck of a 
 wise bird. Real smart an' cute an' shiny, a cache of wisdom, a 
 real, bonyfied Smart Aleck with a head full of spavined brains. 
 I copper th' deuce an' th' deuce wins; I play th' King to win for 
 ten dollars when I ought to copper it. I lay two-bits and it comes 
 right — ten dollars an' I see my guess go loco. Reckon I better 
 slip these here twin bucks down in my kill-me-soon boots afore 
 some blind papoose takes 'em away from me. Wiser'n Solomon, 
 I am; I've got old Csesar climbin' a cactus for pleasure an' joy. 
 S-u-c-k-e-r is my middle name — an' I'm busted." 
 
 He almost stumbled over a little tray of a three-legged table 
 on the corner of the street and his face went hard as he saw the 
 layout. Three halves of English walnut shells lay on the faded 
 and soiled green cloth and a blackened, shriveled pea was still 
 rolling from the shaking he had given the table. He stopped and 
 regarded it gravely, jingling his two dollars disconsolately. 
 "Don't this town do nothin' else besides gamble?" he muttered, 
 looking around. 
 
 "Howd'y, stranger!" cheerfully cried a man who hastened up. 
 "Want to see me fool you?" 
 
 The puncher's anger was aroused to a thin, licking flame; 
 but it passed swiftly and a cold, calculating look came into his 
 eyes. He glanced around swiftly, trying to locate the cappers, 
 but they were not to be seen, which worried him a little. He 
 always liked to have possible danger where he could keep an 
 eye on it. Perhaps they were eating or drinking — the thought 
 stirred him to anger: two dollars would not feed him very long, 
 nor quench his thirst. 
 
 "Pick it out, stranger," invited the proprietor, idly shifting 
 the shells. "It's easy if yo're right smart — but lots of folks just 
 can't do it; they can't seem to get th' hang of it, somehow. 
 That's why it's a bettin' proposition. Here it is, right before 
 yore eyes! One little pea, three little shells, right here plumb in 
 
98 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 front of yore eyes! Th' little pea hides under one of th' little 
 shells, right in plain sight: But can you tell which one? That's 
 th' whole game, right there. See how it's done?" and the three 
 little shells moved swiftly but clumsily and the little pea disap- 
 peared. "Now, then; where would you say it was?" demanded 
 the hopeful operator, genially. 
 
 The puncher gripped his two dollars firmly, shifted his weight 
 as much as possible on his sound leg, and scowled: he knew 
 where it was. "Do I look like a kid? Do you reckon you have 
 to coax like a fool to get me all primed up to show how re-mark- 
 ably smart an' quick I am? You don't; I know how smart I am. 
 Say, you ain't, not by any kinda miracle, a blind papoose, are 
 you?" he demanded. 
 
 "What you mean?" asked the other, smiling as he waited for 
 the joke. It did not come, so he continued. "Don't take no harm 
 in my fool wind-jammin', stranger. It's in th' game. It's a habit; 
 I've said it so much I just can't help it no more — I up an' says 
 it at a funeral once; that is, part of it — th' first part. That's dead 
 right! But I reckon I'm wastin' my time — unless you happen to 
 feel coltish an' hain't got nothin' to do for an age. I've been 
 playin' in hard luck th' last week or so — you see, I ain't as good 
 as I uster be. I ain't quite so quick, an' a little bit off my quick- 
 ness is a whole lot off my chances. But th' game's square — an' 
 that's a good deal more'n you can say about most of 'em." 
 
 The puncher hesitated, a grin flickering about his thin lips 
 and a calm joy warming him comfortably. He knew the opera- 
 tor. He knew that face, the peculiar, crescent-shaped scar over 
 one brow, and the big, blue eyes that years of life had not entirely 
 robbed of their baby-like innocence. The past, sorted thoroughly 
 and quickly by his memory, shoved out that face before a crowd 
 of others. Five years is not a long time to remember something 
 unpleasant; he had reasons to remember that countenance. 
 Knowing the face he also knew that the man had been, at one 
 time, far from "square." The associations and means of liveli- 
 
DEALING THE ODD 99 
 
 hood during die past five years, judging from the man's present 
 occupation, had not been the kind to correct any evil tendency. 
 He laid a forefinger on the edge of the tray. "Start th' machin- 
 ery — I'll risk a couple of dollars, anyhow. That ain't much to 
 lose. I bet two dollars I can call it right," he said, watching 
 closely. 
 
 He won, as he knew he would; and the result told him that 
 the gambler had not reformed. The dexterous fingers shifting 
 the shells were slower than others he had seen operate and when 
 he had won again he stopped, as if to leave. "When I hit town 
 a short time ago I didn't know I'd be so lucky. I went an' 
 drawed two months' pay when I left th' ranch: I shore don't 
 need it. Shuffle 'em again — it's yore money, anyhow," he laughed. 
 "You should 'a' quit th' game before you got so slow." 
 
 "Goin' back to work purty soon?" queried the shell-man, 
 wondering how much this "sucker" had left unspent. 
 
 "Not me! I've only just had a couple of drinks since I hit 
 town — an' /'m due to celebrate." 
 
 The other's face gave no hint of his thoughts, which were 
 that the fool before him had about a hundred dollars on his 
 person. "Well, luck's with you today — you've called it right 
 twice. I'll bet you a cool hundred that you can't call it th' third 
 time. It's th' quickness of my hands agin yore eyes — an' you 
 can't beat me three straight. Make it a hundred? I hate to play 
 all day." 
 
 "I'll lay you my winnin's an' have some more of yore money," 
 replied the puncher, feverishly. "Ain't scared, are you?" 
 
 "Don't know what it means to be scared," laughed the other. 
 "But I ain't got no small change, nothin' but tens. Play a hun- 
 dred an' let's have some real excitement." 
 
 "Nope; eight or nothin'." 
 
 He won again. "Now, sixteen even. Come on; I've got you 
 beat." 
 
100 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "But what's th' use of stringin' 'long like that?" demanded 
 the shell-man. 
 
 "Gimme a chance to get my hand in, won't you?" retorted 
 the puncher. 
 
 "Well, all right," replied the gambler, and he lost the sixteen. 
 
 "Now thirty," suggested the puncher. "Next time all I've got, 
 every red cent. Once more to practice — then every red," he re- 
 peated, shifting his feet nervously. "I'll clean you out an' have 
 a real, genuine blow-out on yore money. Come on, I'm in a 
 hurry." 
 
 "I'll fool you this time, by th' Lord!" swore the gambler, 
 angrily. "You've got more luck than sense. An' I'll fool you next 
 time, too. Yo're quicker'n most men I've run up agin, but I 
 can beat you, shore as shootin'. Th' games's square, th' play 
 fair — ^my hand agin yore eye. Ready? Then watch me!" 
 
 He swore luridly and shoved the money across the board to 
 the winner, bewailing his slowness and getting angrier every 
 moment. "Yo're th' cussedest man I ever bet agin! But I'll get 
 you this time. You can't guess right all th' time, an' I know it." 
 
 "There she is; sixty-two bucks, three score an' two simoleons; 
 all I've got, every cent. Let's see you take it away from me!" 
 
 The gambler frowned and choked back a curse. He had risked 
 sixty dollars to win two, and the fact that he had to let this fool 
 play again with the fire hurt his pride. He had no fear for his 
 money — ^he knew he could win at every throw — but to play 
 that long for two dollars! And suppose the sucker had quit 
 with the sixty! 
 
 "Do you get a dollar a month?" he demanded, sarcastically. 
 "Well, I reckon you earn it, at that. Thought you had money, 
 thought you drew down two months' pay an' hain't had nothin' 
 more'n two drinks? Did you go an' lose it on th' way?" 
 
 "Oh, I drew it a month ago," replied the sucker, surprised. 
 "I've only had two drinks in this town, which I hit 'bout an 
 hour ago. But I shore lost a wad playin' faro-bank agin a tow- 
 
DEALING THE ODD lOI 
 
 head. Come on — lemme take sixty more of yore money, any- 
 how." 
 
 "Sixty-two!" snapped the proprietor, determined to have those 
 two miserable dollars and break the sucker for revenge. "Every 
 cent, you remember." 
 
 "All right; I don't care! I ain't no tin-horn," grumbled the 
 other. "Think I care 'bout two dollars?" But he appeared to be 
 very nervous, nevertheless. 
 
 "Well, put it on th' table." 
 
 "After you put yourn down." 
 
 "There it is. Now watch me close!" A gleam of joy flashed 
 up in the angry man's eyes as he played with the shells. "Watch 
 me close! Mebby it is, an' mebby it ain't — ^th' game's square, th' 
 play's fair. It's my hand agin yore eye. Watch me close!" 
 
 "Oh, go ahead! I'm watchin', all right. Think I'd go to sleep 
 now!" 
 
 The shifting hands stopped, the shells lay quiet, and the 
 gambler gazed blankly down the unsympathetic barrel of a Colt. 
 
 "Now, Thomas, old thimble-rigger," crisply remarked the 
 supposed sucker as he cautiously slid the money off the table, 
 to be picked up later when conditions would be more favorable. 
 "Th' little pea ain't under no shell. Stop! Step back one pace an' 
 elevate them paws. Don't make no more funny motions with 
 that hand, savvy ? But you can drop th' pea if it hurts them two 
 fingers. Now we'll see if I win; I alius like to be shore," and he 
 cautiously turned over the shells, revealing nothing but the dirty 
 green cloth. "I win; it ain't there — ^just like I thought." 
 
 "Who are you, an' how'd you know my name.?" demanded 
 the gambler, mentally cursing his two missing cappers. They 
 were drinking once too often and things were going to happen 
 in their vicinity, and very soon. 
 
 "Why, you took twenty-five dollars from me up in Alameda 
 onct, when I couldn't afford to lose it," grinned the puncher. 
 
102 THE COMING OF CASsmY 
 
 "I was something of a kid then. I remember you, all right. My 
 foreman told me about yore bang-up fight agin th' Johnson 
 brothers, who gave you that scar. I thought then that you were 
 a great man — now I know you ain't. I wouldn't 'a' played at 
 all if I hadn't knowed how crooked you was. Take yore layout 
 an' yore crookedness, find th' pea an' yore cappers, an' clear 
 out. An' if anybody asks you if you've seen Hopalong Cassidy 
 you tell 'em I'm up here in Colby makin' some easy money 
 beatin' crooked games. So-long, an' don't look back!" 
 
 Hopalong watched him go and then went to the nearest place 
 where he could get something to eat. In due time, having dis- 
 posed of a square meal, Hopalong called for a drink and a cigar, 
 and sat quietly smoking for nearly half an hour, so lost in 
 thought that his cigar went out repeatedly. As he reviewed his 
 disastrous play at faro many small details came to him and now 
 he found them interesting. The dealer was not a master at his 
 trade and Hopalong had seen many better; in fact the man was 
 not even second class, and this fact hurt his pride. He had played 
 a careful game, and the great majority of his small bets had 
 won — it was only when he risked twenty or thirty dollars that 
 he lost. The only big bet that he had been at all lucky on was 
 one where doubles showed on the turn and he had been split, 
 losing half of his stake. But when he had played his last fifty 
 dollars on the Jack, open, the final blow fell and he had left the 
 table in disgust. 
 
 Why weren't there cue-cards, so the players could keep their 
 own tally of the cards instead of having to depend on the cue- 
 box kept by the case-keeper? This made him suspicious; a 
 crooked dealer and case-keeper can trim a big bet at will, unless 
 the players keep their own cases or are exceptionally wise; and 
 even then a really good dealer will get away with his play nine 
 times out of ten. While he seldom played a system, he had 
 backed one that morning but he was cured of that weakness 
 
DEALING THE ODD IO3 
 
 now. If the game were square he figured he could get at least 
 an even break; if crooked, nothing but a gun could beat it, and 
 he had a very good gun. When he thought of the gun, he re- 
 viewed the arrangement of the room and estimated the weight 
 of the rough, deal table on which rested the faro layout. He 
 smiled and turned to the bartender. "Hey, barkeeper! Got any 
 paper an' a pencil?" 
 
 After some rummaging the taciturn dispenser of liquid forget- 
 it produced the articles in question and Hopalong, drawing some 
 hurried lines, paid his bill, treated, kept the pencil and headed 
 for the faro game across the street. 
 
 When he entered the room the table was deserted and he 
 nodded to the dealer as he seated himself at the right of the 
 case-keeper, who now took his place, and opposite the dealer and 
 the lookout. He was not surprised to find no other players in 
 the room, for the hour was wrong; later in the afternoon there 
 would be many and at night the place would be crowded. This 
 suited him perfectly and he settled himself to begin playing. 
 
 When the deck was shuffled and placed in the deal box Hop- 
 along put his ruled paper in front of him on the table, tallied 
 once against the King for the soda card and started to play 
 quarters and half dollars. He caught the fugitive look that 
 passed between the men as they saw his cue-card but he gave 
 no sign of having observed it. After that he never looked up 
 from the cards while his bets were small. Two deals did not 
 alter his money much and he knew that so far the game was 
 straight. If it were not to remain straight the crookedness would 
 not come more than once in a deal if the frame-up was "single- 
 odd" and then not until the bet was large enough to practically 
 break him. His high-card play ran in his favor and kept him 
 gradually drawing ahead. He lost twice in calling the last turn 
 and guessed it right once, at four to one, which made him win 
 in that department of the game. 
 
 IBS 
 
104 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 When the fifth deal began he was quite a Uttle ahead and his 
 play became bolder, some of the bets going as high as ten dollars. 
 He broke even and then played heavier on the following deal. 
 His first high bet, twenty dollars, was on the eight, open, only 
 one eight having shown. Double eights showed on the next turn 
 and he was split, losing half the stake. 
 
 It was about this time that the look-out discovered that Mr. 
 Cassidy was getting a little excited and several times had nearly 
 forgotten to keep his cases. This information was cautiously 
 passed to the dealer and case-keeper and from then on they 
 evinced a little more interest in the game. Finally the player, 
 after studying his cue-card, placed fifty dollars on the Queen, 
 open, and coppered the deuce, a case-card, and then put ten 
 more on the high card. This came in the middle of the game 
 and he was prepared for trouble as the turn was made, but 
 fortune was kind to him and he raked in sixty dollars. He was 
 mildly surprised that he had won, but explained it to himself 
 by thinking that the stakes were not yet high enough. From then 
 on he was keenly alert, for the crookedness would come soon 
 if it ever did, but he strung small sums on the next dozen turns 
 and waited for a new deal before plunging. 
 
 As the dealer shuffled the cards the door opened and closed 
 noisily and a surprised and doubting voice exclaimed: "Ain't 
 you Hopalong Cassidy? Cassidy, of th' Bar-20?" 
 
 Hopalong glanced up swiftly and back to the cards again: 
 "Yes; what of it?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin'. I saw you onct an' I wondered if I was right." 
 
 "Ain't got time now; see you later, mebby. You might stick 
 around outside so I can borrow some money if I go broke." 
 The man who knew Mr. Cassidy silently faded, but did not 
 stick around, thereby proving that the player knew human na- 
 ture and also how to get rid of a pest. 
 
 When the dealer heard the name he glanced keenly at the 
 
DEALING THE ODD IO5 
 
 owner o£ it, exchanged significant looks with the case-keeper 
 and faltered for an instant as he shoved the cards together. He 
 was not sure that he had shuffled them right, and an anxious 
 look came into his eyes as he realized that the deal must go on. 
 It was far from reassuring to set out to cheat a man so well 
 known for expert short-gun work as the Bar-20 puncher and he 
 wished he could be relieved. There was no other dealer around 
 at that time of the day and he had to go through with it. He did 
 not dare to shuffle again and chance losing the card beyond hope, 
 and for the reason that the player was watching him like a hawk. 
 
 A ten lay face up on the deck and Hopalong, tallying against 
 it on his sheet, began to play small sums. Luck was variable and 
 remained so until the first twenty dollar bet, when he reached 
 out excitedly and raked in his winnings, his coat sleeve at the 
 same time brushing the cue-card ofl the table. But he had for- 
 gotten all about the tally sheet in his eagerness to win and 
 played several more cards before he noticed it was missing and 
 sought for it. Smothering a curse he glanced at the case-keeper's 
 tally and went on with the play. He did not see the look of 
 relief that showed momentarily on the faces of the dealer and 
 his associates, but he guessed it. 
 
 He had no use for cue-cards when he felt like doing without 
 them; he liked to see them in use by the players because it 
 showed the game to be more or less straight, and it also saved 
 him from over-heating his memory. When he had brushed his 
 tally sheet off the table he knew what he was doing, and he 
 knew every card that had been drawn out of the box. So far he 
 had seen no signs of cheating and he wished to give the dealer 
 a chance. There should now remain in the deal box three cards, 
 a deuce, five and a four, with a Queen in sight as the last win- 
 ner. He knew this to be true because he had given all his atten- 
 tion to memorizing the cards as they showed in the deal box, 
 and had made his bets small so he would not have to bother 
 
I06 THE COlsnNG OF CASSIDY 
 
 about them. As he had lost three times on a four he now be- 
 lieved it was due to win. 
 
 Taking all his money he placed it on the four : "Two hundred 
 and seventy on th' four to win," he remarked, crisply. 
 
 The dealer sniffed almost inaudibly and the case-keeper pre- 
 pared to cover him on the cue-rack under cover of the excitement 
 of the turn. If the four lay under the Queen, Cassidy lost; if not 
 he either won or was in hock. The dealer was unusually grave 
 as he grasped the deal box to make the turn and as the Queen 
 slid off a five-spot showed. 
 
 The dealer's hand trembled as he slid the five off, showing 
 a four, and a winner for Hopalong. He went white — ^he had 
 bungled the shuffle in his indecision and now he didn't know 
 what might develop. And in his agitation he exposed the hock 
 card before he realized what he was doing, and showed another 
 five. He had made the mistake of showing the "odd." 
 
 Hopalong, ready for trouble, was more prepared than the 
 others and he was well under way before they started. His left 
 hand swung hard against the case-keeper's jaw, his Colt roared 
 at the drawing bartender, crumpling the trouble-hunter into a 
 heap on the floor dazed from shock of a ball that "creased" his 
 head. He had done this as he sprang to his feet and his left 
 hand, dropping swiftly to the heavy table, threw it over onto 
 the lookout and the dealer at the instant their hands found their 
 guns. Caught off their balance they went down under it and 
 before they could move sufficiently to do any damage, Hopalong 
 vaulted the table and kicked their guns out of their hands. When 
 they realized just what had happened a still-smoking Colt cov- 
 ered them. Many of Hopalong's most successful and spectacular 
 plays had been less carefully thought out beforehand than this 
 one and he laughed sneeringly as he looked at the men who had 
 been so greedy as to try to clean him out the second time. 
 
 "Get up!" he snarled. 
 
DEALING THE ODD IO7 
 
 They crawled out o£ their trap and sullenly obeyed his hand, 
 backing against the wall. The case-keeper was still unconscious 
 and Hopalong, disarming him, dragged him to the wall with 
 the others. 
 
 "I wondered where that deuce had crawled to," Mr. Cassidy 
 remarked, grimly, "an' I was goin' to see, only it's plain now. 
 I knowed you was clumsy, but my glory! Any man as can't 
 deal 'single-odd' ought to quit th' business, or play straight. So 
 you had five fives agin me, eh ? Instead of keepin' th' five under 
 th' Queen, you bungled th' deuce in its place. When you went 
 to pull ofl th' Queen an' five like they was one card, you had th' 
 deuce under her. You see, I keep cases in my old red head an' I 
 didn't have to believe what th' cue-rack was all fixed to show me. 
 An' I was waitin', all ready for th' play that'd make me lose. 
 
 "As long as this deal was framed up, we'll say it was this 
 mornin'. You cough up th' hundred an' ten I lost then, an' 
 another hundred an' ten that I'd won i£ it wasn't crooked. An' 
 don't forget that two-seventy I just pulled down, neither. Make 
 it in double eagles an' don't be slow 'bout it. Money or lead — 
 with you callin' th' turn." It was not a very large amount and 
 it took only a moment to count it out. The eleven double eagles 
 representing the mornin's play seemed to slide from the dealer's 
 hand with reluctance — but a man lives only once, and they slid 
 without stopping. 
 
 The winner, taking the money, picked up the last money he 
 had bet and, distributing it over his person to equalize the 
 weight, gathered up the guns from the floor. Backing toward the 
 door he noticed that the bartender moved and a keen glance 
 at that unfortunate assured him that he would live. 
 
 When he reached the door he stopped a moment to ask a 
 question, the tenseness of his expression relaxing into a broad, 
 apologetic grin. "Would you mind tellin' me where I can find 
 some more frame-ups? I shore can use th' money," 
 
I08 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 The mumbled replies mentioned a locality not to be found on 
 any map of the surface of the globe, and grinning still more 
 broadly, Mr. Cassidy side-stepped and disappeared to find his 
 horse and go on his way rejoicing. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The Norther 
 
 Johnny knew I had a notebook crammed with the stories his 
 friends had told me; but Johnny, being a wise youth, also knew 
 that there was always room for one more. Perhaps that explains 
 his sarcasm, for, as he calmly turned his back on his fuming 
 friend, he winked at me and sauntered off, whistling cheerfully. 
 
 Red spread his feet apart, jammed his fists against his thighs 
 and stared after the youngster. His expression was a study and 
 his open mouth struggled for a retort, but in vain. After a mo- 
 ment he shook his head and slowly turned to me. "Hear th' fool.? 
 He's from Idyho, he is. It never gets cold nowhere else on earth. 
 Ain't it terrible to be so ignorant?" He glanced at the bunk- 
 house, into which Johnny had gone for dry clothing. "So I ain't 
 never seen no cold weather?" he mused thoughtfully. Snapping 
 his fingers irritably, he wheeled toward the corral. "I'm goin' 
 down to look at th' dam — there's been lots of water leanin' 
 ag'in it th' last week. Throw th' leather on Saint, if you wants, 
 an' come along. I'll tell you about some cold weather that had 
 th' Idyho brand faded. Cold weather! Huh!" 
 
 As he swung past the bunkhouse we saw Johnny and Billy 
 
 Jordan leaning in the doorway ragging each other, as cubs will. 
 
 Johnny grinned at Red and executed a one-hand phrase of the 
 
 sign language that is universally known, which Red returned 
 
 with a chuckle. "Wish he'd been here th* time God took a hand 
 
 in a big game on this ranch," he said. "I'm minus two toes on 
 
 109 
 
no THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 each foot in consequence thereof. They can't scare me none by 
 preachin' a red-hot hell. No, sir; not any." 
 
 He was silent a moment. "Mebby it ain't so bad when a feller 
 is used to it; but we ain't. An' it frequent hits us goin' over th' 
 fence, with both feet off th' ground. Anyhow, that Norther 
 wasn't no storm — it was th' attendant agitation caused by th' 
 North Pole visitin' th' Gulf. 
 
 "Cowan had just put Buckskin on th' map by buildin' th' 
 first shack. John Bartlett an' Shorty Jones, durn him, was startin' 
 th' Double Arrow with two hundred head. When th' aforemen- 
 tioned agitation was over they had less'n one hundred. We lost 
 a lot of cows, too; but our range is sheltered good, an' that rock 
 wall down past Meeker's bunkhouse stopped our drifts, though 
 lots of th' cows died there. 
 
 "We'd had a mild winter for two weeks, an' a lot of rain. 
 We was chirpin' like li'l fool birds about winter bein* over. Ever 
 notice how many times winter is over before it is? But Buck 
 didn't think so; an' he shore can smell weather. We was also 
 discussin' a certain campin' party Jimmy had discovered across 
 th' river. Jimmy was at th' bunkhouse that shift an' he was a 
 great hand for snoopin' around kickin' up trouble. He reports 
 there's twelve in th' party an' they're camped back of Split Hill. 
 Now, Split Hill is no place for a camp, even in th' summer; an' 
 what got us was th' idea of campin' at all in th' winter. It riled 
 Buck till he forgot to cross off three days on th' calendar, which 
 we later discovered by help of th' almanac an' th' moon. Buck 
 sends Hoppy over to scout around Split Hill. You know Hoppy. 
 He scouted for two days without bein' seen, an' without dis- 
 coverin' any lawful an' sane reason why twelve hard-lookin' 
 fellers should be campin' back of Split Hill in th' winter time. 
 He also found they had come from th' south, an' he swore there 
 wasn't no cow tracks leadin' toward them from our range. But 
 there was lots of boss tracks bac]^ and forth. An' when he reports 
 
THE NORTHER III 
 
 that th' campers had left an' gone on north we all feel better. 
 Then he adds they turned east below th' Double Arrow an' 
 went back south again. That's different. It's plain to some of us 
 they was lookin' us over for future use; learnin' our ways an' 
 th' lay of th' land. There was seven of us at th' time, but we 
 could 'a' licked 'em in a fair fight. 
 
 "In them days we only had two line houses. Number One 
 was near Big Coulee, with Cowan's at th' far end of its fifteen 
 miles of north line; th' west line was a twenty-five-mile ride 
 south to Lookout Peak. Number Two was where th' Jumpin' 
 Bear empties into th' river, now part of Meeker's range. From it 
 th' riders went west twenty-five miles to th' Peak an' north 
 from it twenty-five miles along th' east line. There was a hun- 
 dred thousan' acres in Conroy Valley an' thirty thousan' in th' 
 Meeker triangle, which made up Section Two. At that time 
 mebby ten thousan' cows was on this section — two-thirds of all 
 of 'em. When we built Number Three on th' Peak this section 
 was cut down to a reasonable size. Th' third headquarters then 
 was th' bunkhouse, with only th' east line to ride. One part, th' 
 shortest, ran north to Cowan's; th' other run about seventeen 
 miles south to Li'l Timber, where th' line went on as part of 
 Number Two's. We paired off an' had two weeks in each of 
 'em in them days. 
 
 "V/hen we shifted at th' end of that week Jimmy Price an' 
 Ace Fisher got Number One; Skinny an' Lanky was in Number 
 Two; an' me an' Buck an' Hoppy took life easy in th' bunk- 
 house, with th' cook to feed us. Buck, he scouted all over th' 
 ranch between th' lines an' worked harder than any of us, 
 spendin' his nights in th' nearest house. 
 
 One mornin', about a week after th' campers left. Buck looked 
 out of th' bunkhouse door an' cautions me an' Hoppy to ride 
 prepared for cold weather. I can see he's worried, an' to please 
 him we straps a blanket an' a buffalo robe behind our saddles. 
 
112 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 cussin' th' size of 'em under our breath. I've got th' short ride 
 that day, an' Buck says he'll wait for me to come back, after 
 which we'll scout around Medicine Bend. He's still worried 
 about them campers. In th' Valley th' cows are thicker'n th' 
 other parts of th' range, an' it wouldn't take no time to get a 
 big herd together. He's got a few things to mend, so he says 
 he'll do th' work before I get back. 
 
 "Down on Section Two things is happenin' fast, like they 
 mostly do out here. Twelve rustlers can do a lot if they have 
 things planned, an' 'most any fair plan will work once. They 
 only wanted one day — after that it would be a runnin' fight, 
 with eight or nine of 'em layin' back to hold us off while th' 
 others drove th' cows hard. Why, Slippery Trendley an' Tamale 
 Jose was th' only ones that ever slid across our lines with that 
 many men. 
 
 "Three rustlers slipped up to Number Two at night an' 
 waited. When Skinny opened th' door in th' mornin' he was 
 drove back with a hole in his shoulder. Then things were 
 a-poppin' in that li'l mud shack. But it didn't do no good, for 
 neither of 'em could get out alive until after dark. They learned 
 that with sorrow, an' pain. An' they shore was het up about it. 
 Ace Fisher, ridin' along th' west line from Number One, was 
 dropped from ambush. Two more rustlers lay back of Medicine 
 Bend lookin' for any of us that might ride down from the 
 bunkhouse. An' they sent two more over to L'l Timber to lay 
 under that ledge of rock that sticks out of th' south side of th' 
 bluff like a porch roof. Either me or Hoppy would be ridin' 
 that way. They stacked th' deck clever; but Providence cut it 
 square. 
 
 "Th' first miss-cue comes when a pert gray wolf lopes past 
 ahead of Hoppy when he's quite some distance above L'l Tim- 
 ber. This gray wolf was a whopper, an' Hoppy was all set to 
 get him. He wanted that sassy devil more'n he wanted money 
 
THE NORTHER II3 
 
 just then, so he starts after it. Mr. Gray Wolf leads him a long 
 chase over th' middle of th' range an' then suddenly disappears. 
 Hoppy hunts around quite a spell, an' then heads back for th' 
 line. While he's huntin' for th' wolf it gets cold, an' it keeps on 
 gettin' colder fast. 
 
 "Me, I leaves later'n usual that mornin'. An' I don't get to 
 Cowan's until late. I'm there when I notices how cussed cold 
 it's got all of a sudden. Cowan looks at his thermometer, which 
 Jimmy later busts, an' says she has gone down thirty degrees 
 since daylight. He gives me a bottle of liquor Buck wanted, an' 
 I ride west along th' north line, hopin' to meet Jimmy or Ace 
 for a short talk. 
 
 "All at once I notice somebody's puUin' a slate-covered blanket 
 over th' north sky, an' I drag my blanket out an' wrap it around 
 me. I'm gettin' blamed cold, an' also a li'l worried. Shall I go 
 back to Cowan's or head straight for th' bunkhouse? Cowan's 
 the nearest by three miles, but what's three miles out here? It's 
 got a lot colder than it was when I was at Cowan's, an' while 
 I'm debatin' about it th' wind dies out. I look up an' see that th' 
 slate-covered blanket has traveled fast. It's most over my head, 
 an' th' light is gettin' poor. When I look down again I notice 
 my cayuse's ears movin' back an' forth, an' he starts pawin' an' 
 actin' restless. That settles it. I'm backin' instinct just then, an' 
 I head for home. I ain't cussin' that blanket none now, an' I'm 
 glad I got th' robe handy; an' that quart of liquor ain't bulky 
 no more. 
 
 "All at once th' bottom falls out of that lead sky, an' flakes 
 as big as quarters sift down so fast they hurts my eyes, an' so 
 thick I can't see twenty feet. In ten minutes everythin' is white, 
 an' in ten more I'm in a strange country. My hands an' feet 
 ache with cold, an' I'm drawin' th' blanket closer, when there's 
 a puff of wind so cold it cuts into my back like a knife. It passes 
 quick, but it don't fool me. I know what's behind it. I reach for 
 
114 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 th' robe an' has it 'most unfastened when there's a roar an' I'm 
 'most unseated by th' wind before I can get set. I didn't know 
 then that it's goin' to blow that hard for three days, an' it's just 
 as well. It's full of ice — li'l slivers that are as sharp as needles 
 an' cut an' sting till they make th' skin raw. I let loose of th' 
 robe an' tie my bandanna around my face, so my nose an' mouth 
 is covered. My throat burns already almost to my lungs. Good 
 Lord, but it is cold! My hands are stiff when I go back for th' 
 robe, an' it's all I can do to keep it from blowin' away from me. 
 It takes me a long time to get it over th' blanket, an' my hands 
 are 'most froze when it's fastened. That was a good robe, but it 
 didn't make much difference that day. Th' cold cuts through it 
 an' into my back as if it wasn't there. My feet are gettin' worse 
 all th' time, an' it ain't long before I ain't got none, for th' achin' 
 stops at th' ankles. Purty soon only my knees ache, an' I know 
 it won't be long till they won't ache no more. 
 
 "I'm squirmin' in my clothes tryin' to rub myself warm when 
 I remember that flask of liquor. Th' cork was out far enough 
 for my teeth to get at it, an' I drink a quarter of it quick. It's 
 an awful load — any other time it would 'a' knocked me cold, 
 for Cowan sold a lot worse stuff then than he does now. But it 
 don't phase me, except for takin' most of th' linin' out of my 
 mouth an' throat. It warms me a li'l, an' it makes my knees 
 ache a li'l harder. But it don't last long — th' cold eats through me 
 just as hard as ever a li'l later, an' then I begin to see things an' 
 get sleepy. Cows an' cayuses float around in th' air, an' I'm 
 countin' money, piles of it. I get warm an' drowsy an' find my- 
 self noddin'. That scares me a li'l, an' I fight hard ag'in it. If I 
 go to sleep it's all over. It keeps gettin' worse, an' I finds my 
 eyes shuttin' more an' more frequent, an' more an' more frequent 
 thinkin' I don't care, anyhow. An' so I drifts along pullin' at th' 
 bottle till it's empty. That should 'a' killed me, then an' there— 
 but it don't even make me real drunk. Mebby I spilled some of 
 
THE NORTHER II5 
 
 it, my hands bein' nothin' but sticks. I can't see more'n five feet 
 now, an' my eyes water, which freezes on 'em. I've given up all 
 hope of hearin' any shootin'. So I close th' peekhole in th' blan- 
 ket an' robe, drawin' 'em tight to keep out some of th' cold. 
 I am sittin' up stiff in th' saddle, like a soldier, just from force 
 of habit, and after a li'l while I don't know nothin' more. Pete 
 says I was a corpse, froze stiff as a ramrod, an' he calls me ghost 
 for a long time in fun. But Pete wasn't none too clear in his 
 head about that time. 
 
 "Down at L'l Timber, Hoppy managed to get under th* 
 shelter of that projectin' ledge of rock on th' south side of th' 
 bluff. Th' snow an' ice is whirlin' under it because of a sort of 
 back draft, but th' wind don't hit so hard. He's fightin' that 
 cayuse every foot, tryin to get to th' cave at th' west end, an' 
 disputin' th' right of way with th' cows that are packed under it. 
 There's firewood under that ledge an' there's food on th' hoof, 
 an' snow water for drink; so if he can make th' cave he's safe. 
 He's more worried about his supply of smokin' tobacco than 
 anythin' else, so far as he's concerned. 
 
 "All at once he runs onto four men huddled half-froze in a 
 bunch right ahead of him. He knows in a flash who they are, 
 an' he draws fumblingly, an' holds th' gun in his two hands, 
 they are so cold. One clean hit an' five clean misses in twenty 
 feet! They're gropin' for their guns when a sudden gust of 
 wind whirls down from th' top of th' hill, pilin' snow an' ice 
 on 'em till they can't see nor breathe. An' a couple of old trees 
 come down to make things nicer. Hoppy is blinded, an' when 
 he gets so he can see again there's one rustler's arm stickin' up 
 out of th' snow, but no signs of th' other three. They blundered 
 out into th' open tryin' to get away from th' stuff comin' down 
 on 'em, an' that means they won't be back no more. 
 
 "Hoppy manages to get to th' cave, tie his cayuse to a fallen 
 tree, an' gather enough firewood for a good blaze, which he 
 
Il6 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 puts in front of th' cave. It takes him a long time to use up his 
 matches one by one, an' then he pulls th' lead out of a cartridge 
 with his teeth, shakes th' powder loose in it an' along th' barrel. 
 Usin' his cigarette papers for tinder he gets th' fire started an' 
 goin' good an' is feelin' some cheerful when he remembers th' 
 three rustlers driftin' south. They was bound to hit a big arroyo 
 that would lead 'em almost ag'in' Number Two's door. With 
 th' wind drivin' 'em straight for it, Hoppy thinks it might mean 
 trouble for Lanky or Skinny. He didn't think about 'em only 
 havin' wool-lined slickers on, or he'd 'a' knowed they couldn't 
 live till they got halfway. They left their blankets in camp so 
 they could work fast. 
 
 "People have called us clannish, an' said we was a 'lovin' 
 bunch' because we stick together so tight. We've faced so much 
 together that us of th' old bunch has got th' same blood in our 
 veins. We ain't eight men — we're one man in eight different 
 kinds of bodies. Lord help anybody that tries to make us less! 
 It's one thing to stand up an' swap shots with a gunman; but 
 it's another to turn yore back on a cave an' a fire like that an' 
 go out into what is purty nigh shore death on a long chance 
 of helpin' a couple of friends that was able to take care of them- 
 selves. That's one of th' things that explains why we made 
 Shorty Jones an' his eleven men pay with their lives for takin' 
 Jimmy's life. Twelve for one! That fight at Buckskin ain't 
 generally understood, even by our friends. An' Hoppy crowns 
 his courage twice in that one storm. Ain't he an old son-of-a- 
 gun? 
 
 "He leaves that fire an' forces his cayuse to take him out in 
 th' storm again, finds that th' arroyo is level full of snow, but has 
 both banks swept bare. He passes them three rustlers in th' next 
 ten minutes — they won't do no more cow-liftin'. Then he tries 
 to turn back, but that's foolish. So he drifts on, gettin' a li'l loco 
 by now. He's purty near asleep when he thinks he hears a shot. 
 
THE NORTHER HJ 
 
 He fights his cayuse again, but can't stop it, so he falls off an' 
 lets it drift, an' crawls an' fights his way back to where that shot 
 was fired from. Lord only knows how he does it, but he falls 
 over a cow an' sees Lanky huggin' its belly for th' li'l warmth 
 in th' carcass. An' he ought to 'a' found him, after leavin' his 
 cayuse an' turnin' back on foot in that darn storm! Th' drifts 
 was beginnin' to make them — when th' storm was over I saw 
 drifts thirty feet high in th' open; an' in th' valley there was 
 some that run 'most to th' top of th' bluffs, an' they're near 
 sixty feet high. 
 
 "Well, Lanky is as crazy as him, an' won't let go of that cow, 
 an' they have a fight, which is good for both of 'em. Finally 
 Lanky gets some sense in his head an' realizes what Hoppy is 
 tryin' to do for him, an' they go staggerin' down wind, first one 
 fallin' an' then th' other. But they keep fightin' like th' game 
 boys they are, neither givin' a cuss for himself, but shore obsti- 
 nate that he's goin' to get th' other out of it. That's our spirit; 
 an' we're proud of it, by gosh! Hoppy wraps th' robe around 
 Lanky, an' so they stagger on, neither one knowin' very much 
 by that time. Th' Lord must 'a' pitied that pair, an' admired th' 
 stuff He'd put in 'em, for they bump into th' Hne house kerslam, 
 an' drop, all done an' exhausted. 
 
 "Meanwhile Skinny 's hoppin' around inside, prayin' an' cussin' 
 by streaks, every five minutes openin' th' door an' firin' off his 
 Colt. He has tied th' two ropes together, an' frequent he ties 
 one end to th' door, th' other to hisself, an' goes out pokin' 
 around in th' snow, hopin' to stumble over his pardner. He's 
 plumb forgot his bad shoulder long ago. Purty soon he opens th' 
 door again to shoot off th' gun, an' in streaks somethin' between 
 his laigs. He slams th' door as he jumps aside, an' then looks 
 scared at Lanky 's sombrero! Mebby he's slow hoppin' outside 
 an' diggin' them out of th' drift that's near covered 'em! Now, 
 don't think bad of Skinny. He dassn't leave th' house to search 
 
Il8 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 any distance, even if he could 'a' seen anythin'. His best play 
 is to stick there an' shoot ofl his gun — Lanky might drift past 
 if he was not there to signal. Skinny thought more of Lanky 
 any time than he did of hisself, th' emaciated match! 
 
 "It don't take long to kick in a lot of snow with that wind 
 blowin' an* he rubs them two till he's got tears in his eyes. Then 
 he fills 'em with hot stew an' whisky, rolls 'em up together an' 
 heaves 'em in th' same bunk. It ain't warm enough in that 
 house, even with th' fire goin', to make 'em lose no arms or laigs. 
 
 "It seems that Lanky, watchin' his chance as soon as th' snow 
 fell heavy enough to cover his movements, slipped out of th' 
 house an' started to circle out around them festive rustlers that 
 held him an' his friends prisoners. He made Skinny stay behind 
 to hold th' house an' keep a gun poppin'. Lanky has worked up 
 behind where th' rustlers was layin' when th' Norther strikes 
 full force. It near blows him over, an', not havin' on nothin' 
 but an old army overcoat that was wore out, th' cold gets him 
 quick. He can't see, an' he can't hear Skinny 's shots no more! 
 He does th' best he can an' tries to fight back along his trail, 
 but in no time there ain't no tracks to follow. Then he loses his 
 head an' starts wanderin' until a cow blunders down on him. 
 H^e shoots th' cow an' hugs its belly to keep warm an' then he 
 don't really remember nothin' 'till he wakes up in th' bunk 
 alongside of Hoppy, both gettin' over an awful drunk. Skinny 
 kept feedin' liquor to 'em till it was gone, an' he had a plenty 
 when he began. 
 
 "Jimmy Price was at Number One when th' blow started, an' 
 Buck was in th' bunkhouse, an' it was three weeks before they 
 could get out an' around, on account of th' snow fallin' so steady 
 an' hard they couldn't see nothin'. 
 
 "Well, getting back to me explains how Pete Wilson came to 
 th' Bar-2o. He is migratin' south, just havin' had th' pleasure of 
 learnin' that his wife sloped with a better-lookin' man. He was 
 
THE NORTHER II9 
 
 scared she might get tired o£ th' other feller an' sift back, so he 
 sells out his li'l store, loads a waggin with blankets, grub, an' 
 firewood, an' starts south, winter or no winter. He moves fast 
 for a new range, where he can make a new beginnin' an' start 
 life fresh, with five years of burnin' matrimonial experience as 
 his valuablest asset. Pete says he reckoned mebby he wouldn't 
 have so many harness sores if he run single th' rest of his life; 
 heretofore he'd been so busy applyin' salve that he didn't have 
 time to find out just what was th' trouble with th' double har- 
 ness. Lots of men feel that way, but they ain't got Pete's unlovely 
 outspoken habit of thought. We used to reckon mebby he wasn't 
 as smart as th' rest of us, him bein' slow an' blunderln' in his 
 retorts. We've played that with coppers lots of times since, 
 though. While he ain't what you'd call quick at retortin', his 
 retorts usually is heard by th' whole county. It ain't every collar- 
 galled husband that's got th' gumption or smartness to jump th' 
 minute th' hat is lifted. Pete had. 
 
 "He's drivin' across our range, an' when th' wind dies out 
 sudden an' th' snow sifts down, he's just smart enough to get 
 out his beddin' an' wrap it around him till he looks like a bale 
 of cotton. An' even at that he's near froze an' lookin' for a place 
 to make a stand when he feels a bump. It's me, fallin' off my 
 cayuse, against his front wheel. He emerges from his beddin', 
 lifts me into th' waggin, puts most of his blankets around me, 
 an' stops. Knowin' he can't save th' cayuses, he shoots 'em. That 
 means grub for us, anyhow, if we run short of th' good stuff. 
 Nobody but Pete could 'a' got th' canvas off that waggin in such 
 a gale, but he did it. He busts th' arches an' slats off th' top of 
 th' waggin an' uses 'em for firewood. Th' canvas he drapes over 
 th' box, lettin' it hang down on both sides to th' ground. An' 
 in about five minutes th' whole thing was covered over with 
 snow. Pete's the strongest man we ever saw, an' we've seen 
 some good ones. Wrastlin' that canvas with stiff hands was a 
 
120 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 whole lot more than what he done to Big Sandy up there on 
 Thunder Mesa. 
 
 "Pete says I was dead when he grabbed me, an' smellin' dis- 
 graceful of liquor. But th' first thing I know is lookin' up in 
 th' gloom at a ceilin' that's right close to my head, an' at a sorta 
 rafter. That rafter gives me a shock. It don't even touch th' 
 ceilin', but runs along 'most a foot below it. I close my eyes an' 
 do a lot of thinkin'. I remember freezin' to death, but that's all. 
 An' just then I hears a faint voice say: 'He shore was dead.' I 
 don't know Pete then, or that he talked to hisself sometimes. 
 An' I reckon I was a li'l off in my head, at that. I begin to 
 wonder if he means me, an' purty soon I'm shore of it. An' don't 
 I sympathize with myself? I'm dead an' gone somewhere; but 
 no preacher I ever heard ever described no place Hke this. Then 
 I smell smoke an' burnin' meat — which gives me a clew to th' 
 range I'm on. Mebby I'm shelved in th' ice box, waitin' my turn, 
 or somethin'. I knew I'd led a sinful life. But there wasn't no 
 use of rubbin' it in — it's awful to be dead an' know it. 
 
 "Th' next time I opens my eyes I can't see nothin'; but I can 
 feel somethin' layin' alongside of me. It's breathin' slow an' 
 regular, an' it bothers me till I get th' idea all of a sudden. It's 
 another dead one, cut out of th' herd an' shoved in my corral 
 to wait for the subsequent events. I felt sorry for him, an' lay 
 there tryin' to figger it out, an' I'm still figgerin' when it starts 
 to get light. Th' other feller grunts an' sits up, bumpin' his head 
 solid against that fool rafter. No dead man that was shoved in 
 a herd consigned to heaven ever used such language, which 
 makes me all the shorer of where I am. But if hell's hot we've 
 still got a long way to go. 
 
 "He sits there rubbin' his head an' cussin' steadily, an' I'm so 
 moved by it that I compliments him. He jumps an' bumps his 
 head again, an' looks at me close. 'Darned if you ain't a husky 
 corpse,' he says. That settles it. I ain't crazy, like I was hopin', 
 
THE NORTHER 121 
 
 but I'm dead. 'You an' me is on th' edge o£ die hereafter,' he adds. 
 
 " 'But who tipped you off?' I asks. 'They just shoved me in 
 here an' didn't tell me nothin' at all.' 
 
 " 'Crazy as th' devil,' he grunts, lookin' at me harder. 
 
 " 'Yo're a Har,' I replies. 'I may be dead, but darned if I'm 
 crazy!' 
 
 "'An' I don't blame you, either,' he mused, sorrow^ful. 'Now 
 you keep quiet till I gets somethin' to eat,' an' he crawls into a 
 li'l round hole at th' other end of th' room. 
 
 "Purty soon I smell smoke again, an' after a long time he 
 comes back with some hot coffee an' burned meat. I grab for 
 th' grub, an' while I'm eatin' I demands to know where I am. 
 
 "He laughs, real cheerful, an' tells me. I'm under his waggin, 
 surrounded by canvas an' any fool quantity of snow. Th' 
 drift over us is fifteen foot high, th' wind has died down, an' 
 it's still snowin' so hard he can't see twenty feet. It is also away 
 down below freezin'. 
 
 "We stayed under that drift 'most three weeks, livin' on raw 
 meat after our firewood gave out. We didn't suffer none from th' 
 cold, though, under all that snow an' with all th' blankets we 
 had. When it stopped snowin' we discovered a drift shamefully 
 high about a mile northeast of us, an' from th' smoke comin' 
 out of it I knew it was th' bunkhouse. 
 
 "Well, to cut it short, it was. An' mebby Buck wasn't glad to 
 see me! He was worried 'most sick an' as soon as we could, we 
 got cayuses and started out to look for th' others, scared stiff 
 at what we expected to find." 
 
 He paused and was silent a moment. "But only Ace was 
 missin'," he added. "We found him an' th' rustlers later, when 
 th' snow went off." 
 
 He paused again and shook his head. "It shore was a miracle 
 that we didn't go with 'em, all of us, except Buck. Pete was so 
 plumb disgusted with travelin' in th' winter, an' had lost his 
 
122 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 cayuses, that when Buck offers him Ace's bunk he stays. An' he 
 ain't never left us since. Huh! Cold? That cub don't know 
 nothin' — mebby he will when he grows up, but I dunno, at that. 
 Idyhol" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 The Drive 
 
 The Norther was a thing of the past, but it left its mark on 
 Buck Peters, whose grimness of face told what the winter had 
 been to him. His daily rides over the range, the reports of his 
 men since that deadly storm had done a great deal to lift the 
 sagging weight that rested on his shoulders; but he would not 
 be sure until the round-up supplied facts and figures. 
 
 That the losses had not been greater he gave full credit to the 
 valley with its arroyos, rock walls, draws, heavily grassed range 
 and groves of timber; for the valley, checking the great south- 
 ward drift by its steep ridges of rock, sheltered the herds in tim- 
 ber and arroyos and fed them on the rich profusion of its grasses, 
 which, by some trick of the rushing winds, had been whirled 
 clean of snow. 
 
 But over the cow-country, north, east, south and west, where 
 vast ranges were unprotected against the whistling blasts from 
 the north, the losses had been stupendous, appalling, stunning. 
 Outfits had been driven on and on before the furious winds, 
 sleepy and apathetic, drifting steadily southward in the white, 
 stinging shroud to a drowsy death. Whole herds, blindly moving 
 before the wind, left their weaker units in constantly growing 
 numbers to mark the trail, and at last lay down to a sleep eternal. 
 And astonishing and incredible were the distances traveled by 
 some of those herds. 
 
 Following the Norther came another menace and one which 
 easily might surpass the worst efforts of the blizzard. Warm 
 winds blew steadily, a hot sun glared down on the snow-covered 
 plain and then came torrents of rain which continued for days, 
 
 123 
 
124 '^'^^ COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 turning the range into a huge expanse of water and mud and 
 sweUing the watercourses with turgid floods that swirled and 
 roared above their banks. Should this be quickly followed by 
 cold, even the splendid valley would avail nothing. Ice, forming 
 over the grasses, would prove deadly as a pestilence; the cattle, 
 already weakened by the hardships of the Norther, and not hav- 
 ing the instinct to break through the glassy sheet and feed on 
 the grass underneath, would search in vain for food, and starve 
 to death. The week that followed the cessation of the rains 
 started gray hairs on the foreman's head; but a warm, constant 
 sun and warm winds dried off the water before the return of 
 freezing weather. The herds were saved. 
 
 Relieved, Buck reviewed the situation. The previous summer 
 had seen such great northern drives to the railroad shipping 
 points in Kansas that prices fell until the cattlemen refused to 
 sell. Rather than drive home again, the great herds were win- 
 tered on the Kansas ranges, ready to be hurled on the market 
 when Spring came with better prices. Many ranches, mortgaged 
 heavily to buy cattle, had been on the verge of bankruptcy, hop- 
 ing feverishly for better prices the following year. Buck had 
 taken advantage of the situation to stock his ranch at a cost far 
 less than he had dared to dream. Then came the Norther and 
 in the three weeks of devastating cold and high winds the Kansas 
 ranges were swept clean of cattle, and even the ranges in the 
 South were badly crippled. Knowing this. Buck also knew that 
 the following Spring would show record high prices. If he had 
 the cattle he could clean up a fortune for his ranch; and if his 
 herd was the first big one to reach the railroad at Sandy Creek 
 it would practically mean a bonus on every cow. 
 
 Under the long siege of uncertainty his impatience smashed 
 through and possessed him as a fever and he ordered the calf 
 round-up three weeks earlier than it ever had been held on the 
 ranch. There was no need of urging his men to the task — they, 
 like himself, sprang to the call like springs freed from a re- 
 
THE DRIVE 125 
 
 Straining weight, and the work went on in a fever of haste. And 
 he took his place on the firing Hne and worked even harder 
 than his outfit of fanatics. 
 
 One day shortly after the work began a stranger rode up to 
 him and nodded cheerfully. "Li'l early, ain't you?" Buck 
 grunted in reply and sent Skinny off at top speed to close a 
 threatened gap in the lengthy driving line. "Goin' to git 'em on 
 th' trail early this year?" persisted the stranger. Buck, swayed 
 by some swift intuition, changed his reply. "Oh, I dunno; I'm 
 mainly anxious to see just what that storm did. An' I hate th' 
 calf burnin' so much I alius like to get it over quick." He 
 shouted angrily at the cook and waved his arms frantically to 
 banish the chuck wagon. "He can make more trouble with that 
 waggin than anybody I ever saw," he snorted. "Get out of there, 
 you fool!" he yelled, dashing off to see his words obeyed. The 
 cook, grinning cheerfully at his foreman's language and heat, 
 forthwith chose a spot that was not destined to be the center o£ 
 the cut-out herd. And when Buck again thought of the stranger 
 he saw a black dot moving toward the eastern skyline. 
 
 The crowded days rolled on, measured full from dawn to 
 dark, each one of them a panting, straining, trying ordeal. Worn 
 out, the horses were turned back into the temporary corral or 
 to graze under the eyes of the horse wranglers, and fresh ones 
 took up their work; and woe unto the wranglers if the supply 
 fell below the demand. For the tired men there was no relief, 
 only a shifting in the kind of work they did, and they drove 
 themselves with grave determination, their iron wills overruling 
 their aching bodies. First came the big herds in the valley; then, 
 sweeping north, they combed the range to the northern line in 
 one grand, mad fury of effort that lasted day after day until the 
 tally man joyously threw away his chewed pencil and gladly 
 surrendered the last sheet to the foreman. The first half of the 
 game was over. Gone as if it were a nightmare was the confusion 
 of noise and dust and cows that hid a remarkable certainty of 
 
126 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 method. But as if to prove it not a dream, four thousand cows 
 were held in three herds on the great range, in charge of the 
 extra men. 
 
 Buck, leading the regular outfit from the north line and toward 
 the bunkhouse, added the figures of the last tally sheet to the 
 totals he had in a little book, and smiled with content. Behind 
 him, cheerful as fools, their bodies racking with weariness, their 
 faces drawn and gaunt, knowing that their labors were not half 
 over, rode the outfit, exchanging chaff and banter in an effort 
 to fool themselves into the delusion that they were fresh and 
 "chipper." Nearing the bunkhouse they cheered lustily as they 
 caught sight of the hectic cook laboring profanely with two 
 balking pintos that had backed his wagon half over the edge 
 of a barranca and then refused to pull it back again. Cookie's 
 reply, though not a cheer, was loud and pregnant with feeling. 
 To think that he had driven those two animals for the last two 
 weeks from one end of the ranch to the other without a mishap, 
 and then have them balance him and his wagon on the crum- 
 bling edge of a twenty-foot drop when not a half mile from the 
 bunkhouse, thus threatening the loss of the wagon and all it 
 contained and the mangling of his sacred person! And to make 
 it worse, here came a crowd of whooping idiots to feast upon 
 his discomfiture. 
 
 The outfit, slowing so as not to frighten the devilish pintos 
 and start them backing again, drew near; and suddenly the air 
 became filled with darting ropes, one of which settled affection- 
 ately around Cookie's apoplectic neck. In no time the strangling, 
 furious dough-king was beyond the menace of the crumbling 
 bank, flat on his back in the wagon, where he had managed to 
 throw himself to escape the whistling hoofs that quickly turned 
 the dashboard into matchwood. When he managed to get the 
 rope from his neck he arose, unsteady with rage, and choked as 
 he tried to speak before the grinning and advising outfit. Before 
 he could get command over his tongue the happy bunch wheeled 
 
THE DRIVE 127 
 
 and sped on its way, shrieking with mirth unholy. They had 
 saved him from probable death, for Cookie was too obstinate 
 to have jumped from the wagon; but they not only forfeited 
 all right to thanks and gratitude, but deserved horrible deaths 
 for the conversation they had so audibly carried on while they 
 worked out the cook's problem. And their departing words and 
 gestures made homicide justifiable and a duty. It was in this 
 frame of mind that Cookie watched them go. 
 
 Buck, emerging from the bunkhouse in time to see the rescue, 
 leaned against the door and laughed as he had not laughed for 
 one heart-breaking winter. Drying his eyes on the back of his 
 hand, he looked at the bouncing, happy crowd tearing south- 
 ward with an energy of arms and legs and lungs that seemed 
 a miracle after the strain of the round-up. Just then a strange 
 voice made him wheel like a flash, and he saw Billy Williams 
 sitting solemnly on his horse near the corner of the house. 
 
 "Hullo, Williams," Buck grunted, with no welcoming warmth 
 in his voice. "What th' devil brings you up here?" 
 
 "I want a job,'' replied Billy. The two, while never enemies nor 
 interested in any mutual disagreements, had never been friends. 
 They never denied a nodding acquaintance, nor boasted of it. 
 "That Norther shore raised cain. There's ten men for every job, 
 where I came from." 
 
 The foreman, with that quick decision that was his in his 
 earlier days, replied crisply. "It's your'n. Fifty a month, to start." 
 
 "Keno. Lemme chuck my war-bag through that door an' I'm 
 ready," smiled Billy. He believed he would like this man when 
 he knew him better. "I thought th' Diamond Bar, over east a 
 hundred mile, had weathered th' storm lucky. You got 'em beat. 
 They're movin' heaven an' earth to get a herd on th' trail, but 
 they didn't have no job for me" he laughed, flushing slightly. 
 "Sam Crawford owns it," he explained naively. 
 
 Buck laughed outright. "I reckon you didn't have much show 
 with Sam, after that li'l trick you worked on him in Fenton. So 
 
128 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Sam is in this country? How are they fixed?" 
 
 "They aims to shove three thousan' east right soon. It's fancy 
 prices for th' first herd that gets to Sandy Creek," he offered. "I 
 heard they're havin' lots of wet weather along th' Comanchee; 
 mebby Sam'll have trouble a-plenty gettin' his herd acrost. Cows 
 is plumb aggervatin' when it comes to crossin' rivers," he 
 grinned. 
 
 Buck nodded. "See that V openin' on th' sky line?" he asked, 
 pointing westward. "Ride for it till you see th' herd. Help 'em 
 with it. We'll pick it up t'morrow." He turned on his heel and 
 entered the house, grave with a new worry. He had not known 
 that there was a ranch where Billy had said the Diamond Bar was 
 located; and a hundred miles handicap meant much in a race to 
 Sandy Creek. Crawford was sure to drive as fast as he dared. 
 He was glad that Billy had mentioned it, and the wet weather 
 along the Comanchee — Billy already had earned his first month's 
 pay. 
 
 All that day and the next the consolidation of the three herds 
 and the preparation for the drive went on. Sweeping up from 
 the valley the two thousand three- and four-year-olds met and 
 joined the thousand that waited between Little Timber and 
 Three Rocks; and by nightfall the three herds were one by the 
 addition of the thousand head from Big Coulee. Four thousand 
 head of the best cattle on the ranch spent the night within gun- 
 shot of the bunkhouse and corrals on Snake Creek. 
 
 Buck, returning from the big herd, smiled as he passed the 
 chuck-wagon and heard Cookie's snores, and went on, growing 
 serious all too quickly. At the bunkhouse he held a short con- 
 sultation with his regular outfit and then returned to the herd 
 again while his drive crew turned eagerly to their bunks. Break- 
 fast was eaten by candle light and when the eastern sky faded 
 into a silver gray Skinny Thompson vaulted into the saddle 
 and loped eastward without a backward glance. The sounds of 
 his going scarcely had died out before Hopalong, relieved of 
 
THE DRIVE 129 
 
 the responsibilities of trail boss, shouldered others as weighty 
 and rode into the northeast with Lanky at his side. Behind him, 
 under charge o£ Red, the herd started on its long and weary 
 journey to Sandy Creek, every man of the outfit so imbued with 
 the spirit of the race that even with its hundred miles' advantage 
 the Diamond Bar could not afford to waste an hour if it hoped 
 to win. 
 
 Out of the side of a verdant hill, whispering and purling, 
 flowed a small stream and shyly sought the crystal depths of a 
 rock-bound pool before gaining courage enough to flow gently 
 over the smooth granite lip and scurry down the gentle slope of 
 the arroyo. To one side of it toward a splinter of rock, slender 
 and gray, washed clean by the recent rains. To the south of it 
 lay a baffling streak a little lighter than the surrounding grass 
 lands. It was, perhaps, a quarter of a mile wide and ended only 
 at the horizon. This faint band was the Dunton trail, not used 
 enough to show the strong characteristics of the depressed bands 
 found in other parts of the cow-country. If followed it would 
 lead one to Dunton 's Ford on the Comanchee, forty miles above 
 West Bend, where the Diamond Bar aimed to cross the river. 
 
 The shadow of the pinnacle drew closer to its base and had 
 crossed the pool when Skinny Thompson rode slowly up the 
 near bank of the ravine, his eyes fixed smilingly on the splinter 
 of rock. He let his mount nuzzle and play with the pool for a 
 moment before stripping off the saddle and turning the animal 
 loose to graze. Taking his rifle in the the hope of seeing game, 
 he went up to the top of the hill, glanced westward and then 
 turned and gazed steadily into the northeast, sweeping slowly 
 over an arc of thirty degrees. He stood so for several minutes 
 and then grunted with satisfaction and returned to the pool. He 
 had caught sight of a black dot far away on the edge of the 
 skyline that split into two parts and showed a sidewise drift. 
 
130 THE COMING OF CASsmY 
 
 Evidently his friends would be on time. Of the herd he had seen 
 no sign, which was what he had expected. 
 
 When at last he heard hoofbeats he arose lazily and stretched, 
 chiding himself for falling asleep, and met his friends as they 
 turned into sight around the bend of the hill. "Reckoned you 
 might 'a' got lost," he grinned sleepily. 
 
 "G'wan!" snorted Lanky. 
 
 "What'd you find?" eagerly demanded Hopalong. 
 
 "Three thousan' head on th' West Bend trail five days ahead 
 of us," replied Skinny. "Ol' Sam is drivin' hard." He paused a 
 moment. "Acts like he knows we're after him. Anyhow, I saw 
 that feller that visited us on th' third day of th' round-up. So 
 I reckon Sam knows." 
 
 Lanky grinned. "He won't drive so hard later. I'd like to see 
 him when he sees th' Comanchee! Bet it's a lake south of Dun- 
 ton's 'cordin' to what we found. But it ain't goin' to bother us 
 a whole lot." 
 
 Hopalong nodded, dismounted and drew a crude map in the 
 sand of the trail. Skinny watched it, grave and thoughtful until, 
 all at once, he understood. His sudden burst of laughter startled 
 his companions and diey exchanged foolish grins. It appeared 
 that from Dunton's Ford north, in a distance of forty miles, the 
 Comanchee was practically born. So many feeders, none of them 
 formidable, poured into it that in that distance it attained the 
 dignity of a river. Hopalong's plan was to drive off at a tangent 
 running a httle north from the regular trail and thus cross nu- 
 merous small streams in preference to going on straight and 
 facing the swollen Comanchee at Dunton's Ford. As the regular 
 trail turned northward when not far from Sandy Creek they 
 were not losing time. Laughing gaily they mounted and started 
 west for the herd which toiled toward them many miles away. 
 Thanks to the forethought that had prompted their scouting 
 expedition the new trail was picked out in advance and there 
 would be no indecision on the drive. 
 
THE DRIVE 131 
 
 Eighty miles to the south lay the fresh trail of the Diamond 
 Bar herd, and five days' drive eastward on it, facing v^^ater- 
 covered lovv^lands at West Bend, Sam Crawford held his herd, 
 certain that the river would fall rapidly in the next two days. It 
 was the regular ford, and the best on the river. The water did 
 fall, just enough to lure him to stay; but, having given orders 
 at dark on the second night for an attempt at crossing at daylight 
 the next morning, he was amazed when dawn showed him the 
 river was back to its first level. 
 
 Sam was American born, but affected things English and 
 delighted in spelling "labor" and like words with a "u." He 
 hated hair chaps and maintained that the gun-play of the West 
 was mythical and existed only in the minds of effete Easterners. 
 Knowing that, it was startling to hear him tell of Plummer, 
 Hickok, Roberts, Thompson and a host of other gunmen who 
 had splotched the West with blood. Not only did every man of 
 that section pack a gun, but Crawford, himself, packed one, 
 thus proving himself either a malicious liar or an imbecile. He 
 acted as though the West belonged to him and that he was the 
 arbiter of its destiny and its chosen historian — which made him 
 troublesome on the great, free ranges. Only that his pretensions 
 and his crabbed, irascible, childish temper made him ludicrous 
 he might have been taken seriously, to his sorrow. Failing miser- 
 ably at law, he fled from such a precarious livelihood, beset with 
 a haunting fear that he had lost his grip, to an inherited ranch. 
 This fear that pursued him turned him into a carping critic of 
 those who excelled him in most things, except in fits of lying 
 about the West as it existed at that time. 
 
 When he found that the river was over the lowlands again 
 he became furious and, carried away by rage, shouted down the 
 wiser counsel of his clear-headed night boss and ordered the 
 herd into the water. Here and there desperate, wild-eyed steers 
 wheeled and dashed back through the cordon of riders, their 
 numbers constantly growing as the panic spread. The cattle in 
 
132 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 the front ranks, forced into the swirling stream by the pressure 
 from the rear, swam with the current and clambered out below, 
 adding to the confusion. Steers fought throughout the press and 
 suddenly, out of the right wing of the herd, a dozen crazed ani- 
 mals dashed out in a bunch for the safety of the higher ground; 
 and after them came the herd, an irresistable avalanche of mad- 
 dened beef. It was not before dark that they were rounded up 
 into a nervous, panicky herd once more. The next morning 
 they were started north along the river, to try again at Dunton's 
 Ford, which they reached in three days, and where another 
 attempt at crossing the river proved in vain. 
 
 Meanwhile the Bar-20 herd pushed on steadily with no con- 
 fusion. It crossed the West Run one noon and the upper waters 
 of the Little Comanchee just before dark on the same day. Next 
 came East Run, Pawnee Creek and Ten Mile Creek, none of 
 them larger than the stream the cattle were accustomed to back 
 on the ranch. Another day's drive brought them to the West 
 branch of the Comanchee itself, the largest of all the rivers they 
 would meet. Here they were handled cautiously and "nudged" 
 across with such care that a day was spent in the work. The 
 following afternoon the east branch held them up until the 
 next day and then, with a clear trail, they were sent along on 
 the last part of the long journey. 
 
 When Sam Crawford, forced to keep on driving north along 
 the Little Comanchee, saw that wide, fresh trail, he barely es- 
 caped apoplexy and added the finishing touches to the sullenness 
 of his outfit. Seeing the herd across, he gave orders for top speed 
 and drove as he never had driven before; and when the last 
 river had been left behind he put the night boss in charge of 
 the cattle and rode on ahead to locate his rivals of the drive. 
 Three days later, when he returned to his herd, he was in a 
 towering fury and talked constantly of his rights and an appeal 
 to law, and so nagged his men that mutiny stalked in his 
 shadow. 
 
THE DRIVE 133 
 
 When the Bar-20 herd was passing to the south of the Httle 
 village of Depau, Hopalong turned back along the trail to find 
 the Diamond Bar herd. So hard had Sam pushed on that he 
 . was only two days' drive behind Red and his outfit when Hop- 
 along rode smilingly into the Diamond Bar camp. He was talk- 
 ing pleasantly of shop to some of the Diamond Bar punchers 
 when Sam dashed up and began upbraiding him and threatened 
 dire punishment. Hopalong, maintaining a grave countenance, 
 took the lacing meekly and humbly as he winked at the grinning 
 punchers. Finally, after exasperating Sam to a point but one 
 degree removed from explosion, he bowed cynically, said "so- 
 long" to the friendly outfit and loped away toward his friends. 
 Sam, choking with rage, berated his punchers for not having 
 thrown out the insulting visitor and commanded more speed, 
 which was impossible. Reporting to Red the proximity of their 
 rivals, Hopalong fell in line and helped drive the herd a little 
 faster. The cattle were in such condition from the easy traveling 
 of the last week that they could easily stand the pace if Craw- 
 ford's herd could. So the race went on, Red keeping the same 
 distance ahead day after day. 
 
 Then came the night when Sandy Creek lay but two days' 
 drive away. A storm had threatened since morning and the first 
 lightning of the drive was seen. The cattle were mildly restless 
 when Hopalong rode in at midnight and he was cheerfully 
 optimistic. He was also very much awake, and after trying in 
 vain to get some sleep he finally arose and rode back along the 
 trail toward the stragglers, which Jimmy and Lanky were hold- 
 ing a mile away. Red had pushed on to the last minute of day- 
 light and Lanky had decided to hold the stragglers instead of 
 driving them up to the main herd so they would start even with 
 it the following morning. It was made up of the cattle that had 
 found the drive too much for them and was smaller than the 
 outfit had dared to hope for. 
 
 Hopalong had just begun to look around for the herd when 
 
134 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 it passed him with sudden uproar. Shouting to a horseman who 
 rode furiously past, he swung around and raced after him, des- 
 perately anxious to get in front of the stampede to try to check 
 it before it struck the main herd and made the disaster complete. 
 For the next hour he was in a riot of maddened cattle and 
 shaved death many times by the breadth of a hand. He could 
 hear Jimmy and Lanky shouting in the black void, now close 
 and now far away. Then the turmoil gradually ceased and the 
 remnant of the herd paused, undecided whether to stop or go 
 on. He flung himself at it and by driving cleverly managed to 
 start a number of cows to milling, which soon had the rest 
 following suit. The stampede was over. A cursing blot emerged 
 from the darkness and hailed. It was Lanky, coldly ferocious. 
 He had not heard Jimmy for a long time and feared that the 
 boy might be lying out on the black plain, trampled into a 
 shapeless mass of flesh. One stumble in front of the charging 
 herd would have been sufficient. 
 
 Daylight disclosed the missing Jimmy hobbling toward the 
 breakfast fire at the cook wagon. He was bruised and bleeding 
 and covered with dirt, his clothes ripped and covered with mud; 
 and every bone and muscle in his body was alive with pain. 
 
 The Diamond Bar's second squad had ridden in to breakfast 
 when a horseman was seen approaching at a leisurely lope. 
 Sam, cursing hotly, instinctively fumbled at the gun he wore 
 at his thigh in defiance to his belief concerning the wearing of 
 guns. He blinked anxiously as the puncher stopped at the wagon 
 and smiled a heavy-eyed salutation. The night boss emerged 
 from the shelter of the wagon and grinned a sheepish welcome. 
 "Well, Cassidy, you fellers got th' trail somehow. We was some 
 surprised when we hit yore trail. How you makin' it?" 
 
 "All right, up to last night," replied Hopalong, shaking hands 
 with the night boss. "Got a match, Barnes?" he asked, holding 
 up an unlighted cigarette. They talked of things connected with 
 the drive and Hopalong cautiously swung the conversation 
 
THE DRIVE 135 
 
 around to mishaps, mentioning several catastrophes of past years. 
 After telling of a certain stampede he had once seen, he turned 
 to Barnes and asked a blunt question. "What would you do 
 to anj'body as stampeded yore stragglers within a mile of th' 
 main herd on a stormy night?" The answer was throaty and 
 rumbling. "Why, shoot him, I reckon." The others intruded 
 their ideas and Crawford squirmed, his hand seeking his gun 
 under the pretense of tightening his belt. 
 
 Hopalong arose and went to his horse, where a large bundle 
 of canvas was strapped behind the saddle. He loosened it and 
 unrolled it on the ground. "Ever see this afore, boys?" he asked, 
 stepping back. Barnes leaped to his feet with an ejaculation of 
 surprise and stared at the canvas. "Where'd you git it?" he 
 demanded. "That's our old wagon cover!" 
 
 Hopalong, ignoring Crawford, looked around the little group 
 and smiled grimly. "Well, last night our stragglers was stam- 
 peded. Lanky told me he saw somethin' gray blow past him in 
 th' darkness, an' then th' herd started. We managed to turn it 
 from th' trail an' so it didn't set off our main herd. Jimmy was 
 near killed — well, you know what it is to ride afore stampeded 
 cows. I found this cover blowed agin' a li'l clump of trees, an' 
 when I sees yore mark, I reckoned I ought to bring it back." 
 He dug into his pocket and brought out a heavy clasp knife. 
 "I just happened to see this not far from where th' herd started 
 from, so I reckoned I'd return it, too." He held it out to Barnes, 
 who took it with an oath and wheeled like a flash to face his 
 employer. 
 
 Crawford was backing toward the wagon, his hand resting 
 on the butt of his gun, and a whiteness of face told of the fear 
 that gripped him. "I'll take my time, right now," growled 
 Barnes. "Blamed if I works another day for a low-lived coyote 
 that'd do a thing like that!" The punchers behind him joined 
 in and demanded their wages. Hopalong, still smiling, waved 
 his hand and spoke. "Don't leave him with all these cows on his 
 
136 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 hands, out here on th' range. I£ you quits him, wait till you get 
 to Sandy Creek. He ain't no man, he ain't; he's a nasty li'l brat 
 of a kid that couldn't never grow up into a man. So, that bein' 
 true, he ain't goin' to get handled like a man. I'm goin' to lick 
 him, 'stead of shootin' him like he was a man. You know," he 
 smiled, glancing around the little circle, "us cowpunchers don't 
 never carry guns. We don't swear, nor wear chaps, even if all 
 of us has got 'em on right now. We say 'please' an' 'thank you' 
 an' never get mad. Not never wearin' a gun I can't shoot him; 
 but, by gravy, I can lick him th' worst he's ever been licked, an' 
 I'm goin' to do it right now." He wheeled to start after the 
 still-backing cowman, and leaped sideways as a cloud of smoke 
 swirled around his hips. Crawford screamed with fear and pain 
 as his Colt tore loose from his fingers and dropped near the 
 wheel of the wagon. Terror gripped him and made him incapa- 
 ble of flight. Who was this man, what was he, when he could 
 draw and fire with such speed and remarkable accuracy? Craw- 
 ford's gun had been half raised before the other had seen it. 
 And before his legs could perform one of their most cherished 
 functions the limping cowpuncher was on him, doing his best 
 to make good his promise. The other half of the Diamond Bar 
 drive crew, attracted by the commotion at the chuck wagon, 
 rode in with ready guns, saw their friends making no attempt 
 at interference, asked a few terse questions and, putting up their 
 guns, forthwith joined the circle of interested and pleased spec- 
 tators to root for the limping red-head. 
 
 Red, back at the Bar-20 wagon, inquired of Cookie the where- 
 abouts of Hopalong. Cookie, still smarting under Jimmy's gall- 
 ing fire of language, grunted ignorance and a wish. Red looked 
 at him, scowling. "You can talk to th' Kid like that, mebby; but 
 you get a civil tongue in yore head when any of us grown-ups 
 ask questions." He turned on his heel, looked searchingly around 
 
THE DRIVE 137 
 
 the plain and mounting, returned to the herd, perplexed and 
 vexed. As he left the camp, Jimmy hobbled around the wagon 
 and stared after him. "Kid!" he snorted. "Grow^n-ups!" he 
 sneered. "Huh!" He turned and regarded Cookie evilly. "Yo're 
 gonna get a good lickin' w^hen I get so I can move better," he 
 promised. Cookie lifted the red flannel dish-rag out of the pan 
 and regarded it thoughtfully. "You better w^ait," he agreed pleas- 
 antly. "You can't run nov^^. I'm honin' for to drape this mop all 
 over yore w^all-eyed face; but I can w^ait." He sighed and went 
 back to work. "Wish Red would shove you in with th' rest of 
 th' cripples back yonder, an' get you ofl'n my frazzled nerves." 
 
 Jimmy shook his head sorrowfully and limped around the 
 wagon again, where he resumed his sun bath. He dozed off 
 and was surprised to be called for dinner. As he arose, grunting 
 and growling, he chanced to look westward, and his shout ap- 
 prised his friends of the return of the missing red-head. 
 
 Hopalong dismounted at the wagon and grinned cheerfully, 
 despite the suspicious marks on his face. Giving an account of 
 events as they occurred at the Diamond Bar chuck wagon, he 
 wound up with: "Needn't push on so hard. Red. Crawford's 
 herd is due to stay right where it is an' graze peaceful for a 
 week. I heard Barnes give th' order before I left. How's things 
 been out here while I was away?" 
 
 Red glared at him, ready to tell his opinion of reckless fools 
 that went up against a gun-packing crowd alone when his 
 friends had never been known to refuse to back up one of their 
 outfit. The words hung on his lips as he waited for a chance to 
 launch them. But when that chance came he had been disarmed 
 by the cheerfulness of his happy friend. "Hoppy," he said, trying 
 to be severe, "yo're nothing but a crazy, durn fool. But what did 
 they say when you started for huffy Sam like that.?" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 The Hold-Up 
 
 The herd delivered at Sandy Creek had traveled only half vi^ay, 
 for the remaining part o£ the journey would be on the railroad. 
 The work of loading the cars was fast, furious fun to anyone who 
 could find humor enough in his make-up to regard it so. Then 
 came a long, wearying ride for the five men picked from the 
 drive outfit to attend to the cattle on the way to the cattle pens 
 of the city. Their work at last done, they "saw the sights" and 
 were now returning to Sandy Creek. 
 
 The baggage smoking-car reeked with strong tobacco, the 
 clouds of smoke shifting with the air currents, and dimly 
 through the haze could be seen several men. Three of these 
 were playing cards near the baggage-room door, while two more 
 lounged in a seat half way down the aisle and on the other side 
 of the car. Across from the card-players, reading a magazine, 
 was a fat man, and near the water cooler was a dyspeptic-looking 
 individual who was grumbling about the country through which 
 he was passing. 
 
 The first five, as their wearing apparel proclaimed, were not 
 of the kind usually found on trains, not the drummer, the tour- 
 ist, or the farmer. Their heads were covered with heavy som- 
 breros, their coats were of thick, black woolens, and their shirts 
 were also of wool. Around the throat of each was a large hand- 
 kerchief, knotted at the back; their trousers were protected by 
 "chaps," of which three were of goatskin. The boots were tight- 
 fitting, narrow, and with high heels, and to them were strapped 
 heavy spurs. Around the waist, hanging loosely from one hip, 
 each wore a wide belt containing fifty cartridges in the loops, 
 
 138 
 
THE HOLD-UP I39 
 
 and supporting a huge Colt's revolver, which rested against the 
 thigh. 
 
 They were happy and were trying to sing but, owing to dif- 
 ferent tastes, there was noticeable a lack of harmony. "Oh Su- 
 sanna" never did go well with "Annie Laurie," and as for 
 "Dixie," it was hopelessly at odds with the other two. But they 
 were happy, exuberantly so, for they had enjoyed their relaxation 
 in the city and now were returning to the station where their 
 horses were waiting to carry them over the two hundred miles 
 which lay between their ranch and the nearest railroad-station. 
 
 For a change the city had been pleasant, but after they had 
 spent several days there it lost its charm and would not have 
 been acceptable to them even as a place in which to die. They 
 had spent their money, smoked "top-notcher" cigars, seen the 
 "shows" and feasted each as his fancy dictated, and as behooved 
 cowpunchers with money in their pockets. Now they were glad 
 that every hour reduced the time of their stay in the smoky, 
 jolting, rocking train, for they did not like trains, and this train 
 was particularly bad. So they passed the hours as best they might 
 and waited impatiently for the stop at Sandy Creek, where they 
 had left their horses. Their trip to the "fence country" was now 
 a memory, and they chafed to be again in the saddle on the 
 open, wind-swept range, where miles were insignificant and the 
 silence soothing. 
 
 The fat man, despairing of reading, watched the card-players 
 and smiled in good humor as he listened to their conversation, 
 while the dyspeptic, nervously twisting his newspaper, wished 
 that he were at his destination. The baggage-room door opened 
 and the conductor looked down on the card-players and grinned. 
 Skinny moved over in the seat to make room for the genial 
 conductor. 
 
 "Sit down, Simms, an' take a hand," he invited. Laughter 
 arose continually and the fat man joined in it, leaning forward 
 more closely to watch the play. 
 
140 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Lanky tossed his cards face down on the board and grinned at 
 the onlooker. 
 
 "Billy shore bluffs more on a varigated flush than any man 
 I ever saw." 
 
 "Call him once in a while and he'll get cured of it," laughed 
 the fat man, bracing himself as the train swung around a sharp 
 turn. 
 
 "He's too smart," growled Billy Williams. "He tried that 
 an' found I didn't have no varigated flushes. Come on, Lanky, 
 if yo're playing cards, put up." 
 
 Farther down the car, their feet resting easily on the seat in 
 front of them, Hopalong and Red puffed slowly at their large, 
 black cigars and spoke infrequently, both idly watching the 
 plain flit by in wearying sameness, and both tired and lazy from 
 doing nothing but ride. 
 
 "Blast th' cars, anyhow," grunted Hopalong, but he received 
 no reply, for his companion was too disgusted to say anything. 
 
 A startling, sudden increase in the roar of the train and a gust 
 of hot, sulphurous smoke caused Hopalong to look up at the 
 brakeman, who came down the swaying aisle as the door 
 slammed shut. 
 
 "Phew!" he exclaimed, genially. "Why in thunder don't you 
 fellows smoke up?" 
 
 Hopalong blew a heavy ring, stretched energetically and 
 grinned: "Much farther to Sandy Creek?" 
 
 "Oh, you don't get off for three hours yet," laughed the brake- 
 man. 
 
 "That's shore a long time to ride this bronc train," moodily 
 complained Red as the singing began. "She shore pitches a- 
 plenty," he added. 
 
 The train-hand smiled and seated himself on the arm of the 
 front seat: 
 
 "Oh, it might be worse." 
 
 "Not this side of hades," replied Red with decision, watching 
 
THE HOLD-UP I4I 
 
 his friend, who was slapping the cushions to see the dust fly out: 
 'Hey, let up on that, will you! There's dust a-plenty without no 
 help from you!" 
 
 The brakeman glanced at the card-players and then at Hop- 
 along. 
 
 "Do your friends always sing like that?" he inquired. 
 "Mostly, but sometimes it's worse." 
 
 "On the level?" 
 
 "Shore enough; they're singing 'Dixie,' now. It's their best 
 song." 
 
 "That ain't 'Dixie!'" 
 
 "Yes it is: that is, most of it.'* 
 
 "Well, then, what's the rest of it?" 
 
 "Oh, them's variations of their own," remarked Red, yawning 
 and stretching. "Just wait till they start something sentimental; 
 you'll shore weep." 
 
 "I hope they stick to the variations. Say, you must be a pretty 
 nifty gang on the shoot, ain't you?" 
 
 "Oh, some," answered Hopalong. 
 
 "I wish you fellers had been aboard with us one day about a 
 month ago. We was the wrong end of a hold-up, and we got 
 cleaned out proper, too." 
 
 "An' how many of 'em did you get?" asked Hopalong quickly, 
 sitting bolt upright. 
 
 The fat man suddenly lost his interest in the card-game and 
 turned an eager ear to the brakeman, while the dyspeptic stopped 
 punching holes in his time-card and listened. The card-players 
 glanced up and then returned to their game, but they, too, were 
 listening. 
 
 The brakeman was surprised: "How many did we get! Gosh! 
 we didn't get none! They was six to our five." 
 
 "How many cards did you draw, you Piute?" asked Lanky, 
 
 "None of yore business; I ain't dealing, an' I wouldn't tell 
 you if I was," retorted Billy. 
 
142 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Well, I can ask, can't I?" 
 
 "Yes — you can, an' did." 
 
 "You didn't get none?" cried Hopalong, doubting his ears. 
 
 "I should say not!" 
 
 "An' they owned th' whole train?" 
 
 "They did." 
 
 Red laughed. "Th' cleaning-up must have been sumptuous 
 an' elevating." 
 
 "Every time I holds threes he alius has better," growled Lanky 
 to Simms. 
 
 "On th' level, we couldn't do a thing," the brakeman ran on. 
 "There's a water tank a little farther on, and they must 'a' 
 climbed aboard thei-e when we stopped to connect. When we got 
 into the gulch the train slowed down and stopped and I started 
 to get up to go out and see what was the matter; but I saw that 
 when I looked down a gun-barrel. The man at the throttle end 
 o£ it told me to put up my hands, but they were up as high then 
 as I could get 'em without climbin' on the top of the seat." 
 
 "Can't you listen and play at th' same time?" Lanky asked 
 Billy. 
 
 "I wasn't countin' on takin' the gun away from him," the 
 brakeman continued, "for I was too busy watchin' for the slug 
 to come out of the hole. Pretty soon somebody on the outside 
 whistled and then another feller come in the car; he was the 
 one that did the cleanin' up. All this time there had been a lot 
 of shootin' outside, but now it got worse. Then I heard another 
 whistle and the engine puffed up the track, and about five min- 
 utes later there was a big explosion, and then our two robbers 
 backed out of the car among the rocks shootin' back regardless. 
 They busted a lot of windows." 
 
 "An' you didn't git none," grumbled Hopalong, regretfully. 
 
 "When we got to the express-car, what had been pulled around 
 the turn," continued the brakeman, not heeding the interruption, 
 "we found a wreck. And we found the engineer and fireman 
 
THE HOLD-UP I43 
 
 standin' over the express-messenger, too scared to know he 
 wouldn't come back no more. The car had been blowed up with 
 dynamite, and his fighting soul went with it. He never knowed 
 he was licked." 
 
 "An' nobody tried to help him!" Hopalong exclaimed, wrath- 
 fully now. 
 
 "Nobody wanted to die with him," replied the brakeman. 
 
 "Well," cried the fat man, suddenly reaching for his valise, 
 "I'd like to see anybody try to hold me up!" Saying which he 
 brought forth a small revolver. 
 
 "You'd be praying out of your bald spot about that time," 
 muttered the brakeman. 
 
 Hopalong and Red turned, perceived the weapon, and then 
 exchanged winks. 
 
 "That's a fine shootin'-iron, stranger," gravely remarked Hop- 
 along. 
 
 "You bet it is," purred the owner, proudly. "I paid six dollars 
 for that gun." 
 
 Lanky smothered a laugh and his friend grinned broadly: "I 
 reckon that'd kill a man — if you stuck it in his ear." 
 
 "Pshaw!" snorted the dyspeptic, scornfully. "You wouldn't 
 have time to get it out of that grip. Think a train-robber is 
 going to let you unpack? Why don't you carry it in your hip- 
 pocket, where you can get at it quickly?" 
 
 There were smiles at the stranger's belief in the hip-pocket 
 fallacy but no one commented upon it. 
 
 "Wasn't there no passengers aboard when you was stuck up?" 
 Lanky asked the conductor. 
 
 "Yes, but you can't count passengers in on a deal like that." 
 
 Hopalong looked around aggressively: "We're passengers, 
 ain't we?" 
 
 "You certainly are." 
 
 "Well, if any misguided maverick gets it into his fool head 
 
144 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 to Stick US up, you see what happens. Don't you know th' fellers 
 outside have all th' worst o' th' deal?" 
 
 "They have not!" cried the brakeman. 
 
 "They've got all the best of it," asserted the conductor em- 
 phatically. "I've been inside, and I know." 
 
 "Best nothing!" cried Hopalong. "They are on th' ground, 
 watching a danger-line over a hundred yards long, full of win- 
 dows and doors. Then they brace th' door of a car full of people. 
 While they climb up the steps they can't see inside, an' then 
 they go an' stick their heads in plain sight. It's an even break 
 who sees th' other first, with th' men inside training their guns 
 on th' glass in th' door!" 
 
 "Darned if you ain't right!" enthusiastically cried the fat man. 
 
 Hopalong laughed: "It all depends on th' men inside. If they 
 ain't used to handling guns, 'course they won't try to fight. 
 We've been in so many gun-festivals that we wouldn't stop to 
 think. If any coin-collector went an' stuck his ugly face against 
 th' glass in that door he'd turn a back-flip off'n th' platform 
 before he knowed he was hit. Is there any chance for a stick-up 
 to-day, d'y think?" 
 
 "Can't tell," replied the brakeman. "But this is about the time 
 we have the section-camps' pay on board," he said, going into 
 the baggage end of the car. 
 
 Simms leaned over close to Skinny. "It's on this train now, 
 and I'm worried to death about it. I wish we were at Sandy 
 Creek." 
 
 "Don't you go worryin' none, then," the puncher replied. "It'll 
 get to Sandy Creek all right." 
 
 Hopalong looked out of the window again and saw that there 
 was a gradual change in the nature of the scenery, for the plain 
 was becoming more broken each succeeding mile. Small woods 
 occasionally hurtled past and banks of cuts flashed by like mot- 
 tled yellow curtains, shutting off the view. Scrub timber stretched 
 away on both sides, a billowy sea of green, and miniature valleys 
 
THE HOLD-UP I45 
 
 lay under the increasing number o£ trestles twisting and winding 
 toward a high horizon. 
 
 Hopalong yawned again: "Well, it's none o' our funeral. If 
 they let us alone I don't reckon we'll take a hand, not even to 
 bust up this monotony." 
 
 Red laughed derisively: "Oh, no! Why, you couldn't sit still 
 nohow with a fight going on, an' you know it. An' if it's a 
 stick-up! Wow!" 
 
 "Who gave you any say in this?" demanded his friend. "Any- 
 how, you ain't no angel o' peace, not nohow!" 
 
 "Mebby they'll plug yore new sombrero," laughed Red. 
 
 Hopalong felt of the article in question: "If any two-laigged 
 wolf plugs my war-bonnet he'll be some sorry, an' so'U his folks," 
 he asserted, rising and going down the aisle for a drink. 
 
 Red turned to the brakeman, who had just returned: "Say," 
 he whispered, "get off at th' next stop, shoot off a gun, an' yell, 
 just for fun. Go ahead, it'll be better'n a circus." 
 
 "Nix on the circus, says I," hastily replied the other. "I ain't 
 looking for no excitement, an' I ain't paid to amuse th' passen- 
 gers. I hope we don't even run over a track-torpedo this side o£ 
 Sandy Creek." 
 
 Hopalong returned, and as he came even with them the train 
 slowed. 
 
 "What are we stopping for?" he asked, his hand going to his 
 holster. 
 
 "To take on water, the tank's right ahead." 
 
 "What have you got?" asked Billy, ruffling his cards. 
 
 "None of yore business," replied Lanky. "You call when you 
 gets any curious." 
 
 "Oh, th' devil!" yawned Hopalong, leaning back lazily. "I 
 shore wish I was on my cayuse pounding leather on th' home 
 trail." 
 
 "Me, too," grumbled Red, staring out of the window. "Well, 
 
146 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 we're moving again. It won't be long now before we gets out of 
 this." 
 
 The card-game continued, the low-spoken terms being inter- 
 spersed with casual comment; Hopalong exchanged infrequent 
 remarks with Red, while the brakeman and conductor stared out 
 of the same window. There was noticeable an air of anxiety, 
 and the fat man tried to read his magazine with his thoughts 
 far from the printed page. He read and re-read a single para- 
 graph several times without gaining the slightest knowledge of 
 what it meant, while the dyspeptic passenger fidgeted more and 
 more in his seat, like one sitting on hot coals, anxious and alert. 
 
 "We're there now," suddenly remarked the conductor, as the 
 bank of a cut blanked out the view. "It was right here where 
 it happened; the turn's farther on." 
 
 "How many cards did you draw, Skinny?" asked Lanky. 
 
 "Three; drawin' to a straight flush," laughed the dealer. 
 
 "Here's the turn! We're through all right," exclaimed the 
 brakeman. 
 
 Suddenly there was a rumbling bump, a screeching of air- 
 brakes and the grinding and rattle of couplings and pins as the 
 train slowed down and stopped with a suddenness that snapped 
 the passengers forward and back. The conductor and brakeman 
 leaped to their feet, where the latter stood quietly during a mo- 
 ment of indecision. 
 
 A shot was heard and the conductor's hand, raised quickly 
 to the whistle-rope sent blast after blast shrieking over the land. 
 A babel of shouting burst from the other coaches and, as the 
 whistle shrieked without pause, a shot was heard close at hand 
 and the conductor reeled suddenly and sank into a seat, limp 
 and silent. 
 
 At the first jerk of the train the card-players threw the board 
 from across their knees, scattering the cards over the floor, and 
 crouching, gained the center of the aisle, intently peering 
 through the windows, their Colts ready for instant use. Hop- 
 
THE HOLIVUP 147 
 
 along and Red were also in the aisle, and when the conductor 
 had reeled Hopalong's Colt exploded and the man outside threw 
 up his arms and pitched forward. 
 
 "Good boy, Hopalong!" cried Skinny, who was fighting mad. 
 
 Hopalong wheeled and crouched, watching the door, and it 
 was not long before a masked face appeared on the farther side 
 of the glass. Hopalong fired and a splotch of red stained the 
 white mask as the robber fell against the door and slid to the 
 platform. 
 
 "Hear that shooting?" cried the brakeman. "They're at the 
 messenger. They'll blow him up!" 
 
 "Come on, fellers!" cried Hopalong, leaping toward the door, 
 closely followed by his friends. 
 
 They stepped over the obstruction on the platform and 
 jumped to the ground on the side of the car farthest from the 
 robbers. 
 
 "Shoot under the cars for legs," whispered Skinny. "That'll 
 bring 'em down where we can get 'em." 
 
 "Which is a good idea," replied Red, dropping quickly and 
 looking under the car. 
 
 "Somebody's going to be surprised, all right," exulted Hop- 
 along. 
 
 The firing on the other side of the train was heavy, being for 
 the purpose of terrifying the passengers and to forestall concerted 
 resistance. The robbers could not distinguish between the many 
 reports and did not know they were being opposed, or that two 
 of their number were dead. 
 
 A whinny reached Hopalong's ears and he located it in a 
 small grove ahead of him: "Well, we know where th' cayuses 
 are in case they make a break." 
 
 A white and scared face peered out of the cab-window and 
 Hopalong stopped his finger just in time, for the inquisitive 
 man wore the cap of fireman. 
 
148 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "You idiot!" muttered the gunman, angrily. "Get back!" he 
 ordered. 
 
 A pair of legs ran swiftly along the other side of the car and 
 Red and Skinny fired instantly. The legs bent, their owner fall- 
 ing forward behind the rear truck, where he was screened from 
 sight. 
 
 "They had it their own way before!" gritted Skinny. "Now 
 we'll see if they can stand th' iron!" 
 
 By this time Hopalong and Red were crawling under the 
 express-car and were so preoccupied that they did not notice 
 the faint blue streak of smoke immediately over their heads. 
 Then Red glanced up to see what it was that sizzed, saw the 
 glowing end of a three-inch fuse, and blanched. It was death 
 not to dare and his hand shot up and back, and the dynamite 
 cartridge sailed far behind him to the edge of the embankment, 
 where it hung on a bush. 
 
 "Good!" panted Hopalong. "We'll pay 'em for that!" 
 
 "They're worse than rustlers!" 
 
 They could hear the messenger running about over their heads, 
 dragging and up-ending heavy objects against the doors of the 
 car, and Hopalong laughed grimly: 
 
 "Luck's with this messenger, all right." 
 
 "It ought to be— he's a fighter." 
 
 "Where are they.? Have they tumbled to our game?" 
 
 "They're waiting for the explosion, you chump." 
 
 "Stay where you are then. Wait till they come out to see 
 what's th' matter with it." 
 
 Red snorted: "Wait nothing!" 
 
 "All right, then; I'm with you. Get out of my way." 
 
 "I've been in situations some pecuHar, but this beats 'em all," 
 Red chuckled, crawling forward. 
 
 The robber by the car truck revived enough to realize that 
 something was radically wrong, and shouted a warning as he 
 
THE HOLD-UP I49 
 
 raised himself on his elbow to fire at Skinny but the alert 
 puncher shot first. 
 
 As Hopalong and Red emerged from beneath the car and 
 rose to their feet there was a terrific explosion and they were 
 knocked to the ground, while a sudden, heavy shower of stones 
 and earth rained down over everything. The two punchers were 
 not hurt and they arose to their feet in time to see the engineer 
 and fireman roll out of the cab and crawl along the track on 
 their hands and knees, dazed and weakened by the concussion. 
 
 Suddenly, from one of the day-coaches, a masked man looked 
 out, saw the two punchers, and cried: 
 
 "It's all up! Save yourselves!" 
 
 As Hopalong and Red looked around, still dazed, he fired at 
 them, the bullet singing past Hopalong's ear. Red smothered 
 a curse and reeled as his friend grasped him. A wound over 
 his right eye was bleeding profusely and Hopalong's face cleared 
 of its look of anxiety when he realized that it was not serious. 
 
 "They creased you! Blamed near got you for keeps!" he cried, 
 wiping away the blood with his sleeve. 
 
 Red, slightly stunned, opened his eyes and looked about con- 
 fusedly. "Who done that? Where is he?" 
 
 "Don't know, but I'll shore find out," Hopalong replied. "Can 
 you stand alone?" 
 
 Red pushed himself free and leaned against the car for sup- 
 port: "Course I can! Git that cuss!" 
 
 When Skinny heard the robber shout the warning he wheeled 
 and ran back, intently watching the windows and doors of the 
 car for trouble. 
 
 "We'll finish yore tally right here!" he muttered. 
 
 When he reached the smoker he turned and went towards 
 the rear, where he found Lanky and Billy lying under the plat- 
 form. Billy was looking back and guarding the rear, while his 
 companion watched the clump of trees where the second herd 
 
150 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 of horses was known to be. Just as they were joined by their 
 foreman, they saw two men run across the track, fifty yards 
 distant, and into the grove, both going so rapidly as to give 
 no chance for a shot at them. 
 
 "There they are!" shouted Skinny, opening fire on the grove. 
 
 At that instant Hopalong turned the rear platform and saw 
 the brakeman leap out of the door with a Winchester in his 
 hands. The puncher sprang up the steps, wrenched the rifle from 
 its owner, and, tossing it to Skinny, cried: "Here, this is better!" 
 
 "Too late," grunted the puncher, looking up, but Hopalong 
 had become lost to sight among the rocks along the right of 
 way. "If I only had this a minute ago!" he grumbled. 
 
 The men in the grove, now in the saddle, turned and opened 
 fire on the group by the train, driving them back to shelter. 
 Skinny, taking advantage of the cover afforded, ran towards 
 the grove, ordering his friends to spread out and surround it; 
 but it was too late, for at that minute galloping was heard and 
 it grew rapidly fainter. 
 
 Red appeared at the end of the train: "Where's th' rest of the 
 coyotes?" 
 
 "Two of 'em got away," Lanky replied. 
 
 "Ya-ho!" shouted Hopalong from the grove. "Don't none of 
 you fools shoot! I'm coming out. They plumb got away!" 
 
 "They near got you. Red," Skinny cried. 
 
 "Nears don't count," Red laughed. 
 
 "Did you ever notice Hopalong when he's fighting mad.?" 
 asked Lanky, grinning at the man who was leaving the woods. 
 "He alius wears his sombrero hanging on one ear. Look at it 
 now!" 
 
 "Who touched off that cannon some time back?" asked Billy. 
 
 "I did. It was an anti-gravity cartridge what I found sizzling 
 on a rod under th' floor of th' express car," replied Red. 
 
 "Why didn't you pinch out th' fuse 'stead of blowing every- 
 
THE HOLD-UP I5I 
 
 thing up, you half-breed?" Lanky asked. 
 
 "I reckon I was some hasty," grinned Red. 
 
 "It blowed me under th' car an' my lid through a windy," 
 cried Billy. "An' Skinny, he went up in th' air like a shore- 
 'nough grasshopper." 
 
 Hopalong joined them, grinning broadly: "Hey, reckon ridin' 
 in th' cars ain't so bad after all, is it?" 
 
 "Holy smoke!" cried Skinny. "What's that a-popping?" 
 
 Hopalong, Colt in hand, leaped to the side of the train and 
 looked along it, the others close behind him, and saw the fat 
 man with, his head and arm out of the window, blazing away 
 into the air, which increased the panic in the coaches. Hopalong 
 grinned and fired into the ground, and the fat man nearly dis- 
 located parts of his anatomy by his hasty disappearance. 
 
 "Reckon he plumb forgot all about his fine, six-dollar gun till 
 just now," Skinny laughed. 
 
 "Oh, he's making good," Red replied. "He said he'd take a 
 hand if anything busted loose. It's a good thing he didn't come 
 to life while me an' Hoppy was under his windy looking for 
 laigs." 
 
 "Reckon some of us better go in th' cars an' quiet th' stam- 
 pede," Skinny remarked, mounting the steps, followed by Hop- 
 along, "They're shore loco!' 
 
 The uproar in the coach ceased abruptly when the two 
 punchers stepped through the door, the inmates shrinking into 
 their seats, frightened into silence. Skinny and his companion 
 did not make a reassuring sight, for they were grimy with 
 burned powder and dust, and Hopalong's sleeve was stained 
 with Red's blood. 
 
 "Oh, my jewels, my pretty jewels," sobbed a woman, staring 
 at Skinny and wringing her hands. 
 
 "Ma'am, we shore don't want yore jewelry," replied Skinny, 
 earnestly. "Ca'm yoreself; we don't want nothin'." 
 
152 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "/ don't want that!" growled Hopalong, pushing a wallet 
 from him. "How many times do you want us to tell you we 
 don't want nothin'? We ain't robbers; we licked the robbers." 
 
 Suddenly he stooped and, grasping a pair of legs which pro- 
 truded into the aisle obstructing the passage, straightened up 
 and backed towards Red, who had just entered the car, drag- 
 ging into sight a portly gentleman, who kicked and struggled 
 and squealed, as he grabbed at the stanchions of seats to stay 
 his progress. Red stepped aside between two seats and let his 
 friend pass, and then leaned over and grasped the portly gentle- 
 man's coat-collar. He tugged energetically and lifted the fright- 
 ened man clear of the aisle and deposited him across the back 
 of a seat, face down, where he hung balanced, yelling and kick- 
 ing. 
 
 "Shut yore face, you cave-hunter!" cried Red in disgust. "Stop 
 that infernal noise! You fat fellers make all yore noise after th' 
 fighting is all over!" 
 
 The man on the seat, suddenly realizing what a sight he made, 
 rolled off his perch and sat up, now more angry than frightened. 
 He glared at Red's grinning face and sputtered: 
 
 "It's an outrage! It's an outrage! I'll have you hung for this 
 day's work, young man!" 
 
 "That's right," grinned Hopalong. "He shore deserves it. I 
 told him more'n once that he'd get strung up some day." 
 
 "Yes and you, too!" 
 
 "Please don't," begged Hopalong. "I don't want t' die!'* 
 
 Tense as the past quarter of an hour had been a titter ran 
 along the car and, fuming impotently, the portly gentleman 
 fled into the smoker. 
 
 "I'll bet he had a six-dollar gun, too," laughed Red. 
 
 "I'll bet he's calling hisself names right about now," Hopalong 
 replied. Then he turned to reply to a woman: "Yes, ma'am, we 
 did. But they wasn't real badmen." 
 
THE HOLD-UP I53 
 
 At this a young woman, who was about as pretty as any 
 young woman could be, arose and ran to Hopalong and, im- 
 pulsively throwing her arms around his neck, cried: "You brave 
 man! You hero! You dear!" 
 
 "Skinny! Red! Help!" cried the frightened and embarrassed 
 puncher, struggling to get free. 
 
 She kissed him on the cheek, which flamed even more red 
 as he made frantic efforts to keep his head back. 
 
 "Ma'am!" he cried, desperately. "Leggo, ma'am! Leggo!" 
 
 "Oh! Ho! Ho!" roared Red, weak from his mirth and, not 
 looking to see what he was doing, he dropped into a seat beside 
 another woman. He was on his feet instantly; fearing that he 
 would have to go through the ordeal his friend was going 
 through, he fled down the aisle, closely followed by Hopalong, 
 who by this time had managed to break away. Skinny backed 
 off suspiciously and kept close watch on Hopalong's admirer. 
 
 Just then the brakeman entered the car, grinning, and Skinny 
 asked about the condition of the conductor. 
 
 "Oh, he's all right now," the brakeman replied. "They shot 
 him through the arm, but he's repaired and out bossin' the job 
 of clearin' the rocks off the track. He's a little shaky yet, but 
 he'll come around all right." 
 
 "That's good. I'm shore glad to hear it." 
 
 "Won't you wear this pin as a small token of my gratitude.?" 
 asked a voice at Skinny's shoulder. 
 
 He wheeled and raised his sombrero, a flush stealing over 
 his face: 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am, but I don't want no pay. We was plumb 
 glad to do it." 
 
 "But this is not pay! It's just a trifling token of my apprecia- 
 tion of your courage, just something to remind you of it. I shall 
 feel hurt if you refuse." 
 
 Her quick fingers had pinned it to his shirt while she spoke 
 
154 '^''^^ CX)MING OF CASSIDY 
 
 and he thanked her as well as his embarrassment would permit. 
 Then there was a rush toward him and, having visions of a shirt 
 looking like a jeweler's window, he turned and fled from the 
 car, crying: "Pin 'em on th' brakeman!" 
 
 He found the outfit working at a pile of rocks on the track, 
 under the supervision of the conductor, and Hopalong looked 
 up apprehensively at Skinny's approach. 
 
 "Lord!" he ejaculated, grinning sheepishly, "I was some scairt 
 you was a woman." 
 
 Red dropped the rock he was carrying and laughed derisively. 
 
 "Oh, yo're a brave man, you are! scared to death by a purty 
 female girl! If I'd 'a' been you I wouldn't 'a' run, not a step!" 
 
 Hopalong looked at him witheringly: "Oh, no! You wouldn't 
 'a' run! You'd dropped dead in your tracks, you would!" 
 
 "You was both of you a whole lot scared," Skinny laughed. 
 Then, turning to the conductor: "How do you feel, Simms?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right : but it took the starch out of me for awhile." 
 
 "Well, I don't wonder, not a bit." 
 
 "You fellows certainly don't waste any time getting busy," 
 Simms laughed. 
 
 "That's the secret of gun-fightin'," replied Skinny. 
 
 "Well, you're a fine crowd all right. Any time you want to go 
 any place when you're broke, climb aboard my train and I'll 
 see't you get there." 
 
 "Much obliged." 
 
 Simms turned to the express-car: "Hey, Jackson! You can 
 open up now if you want to." 
 
 But the express-messenger was suspicious, fearing that the con- 
 ductor was talking with a gun at his head: "You go to blazes!" 
 he called back. 
 
 "Honest!" laughed Simms. "Some cowboy friends o' mine 
 licked the gang. Didn't you hear that dynamite go off? If they 
 
THE HOLD-UP I55 
 
 hadn't fished it out from under your feet you'd be communing 
 with the angels 'bout now." 
 
 For a moment there was no response, and then Jackson could 
 be heard dragging things away from the door. When he was 
 told of the cartridge and Red had been pointed out to him as 
 the man who had saved his life, he leaped to the ground and 
 ran to where that puncher was engaged in carrying the ever- 
 silenced robbers to the baggage-car. He shook hands with Red, 
 who laughed deprecatingly, and then turned and assisted him. 
 
 Hopalong came up and grinned: "Say, there's some cayuses 
 in that grove up th' track; shall I go up an' get 'em?" 
 
 "Shore! I'll go an' get 'em with you," replied Skinny 
 
 In the grove they found seven horses picketed, two of them 
 being pack-animals, and they led them forth and reached the 
 train as the others came up. 
 
 '"Well, here's five saddled cayuses, an' two others," Skinny 
 grinned. 
 
 "Then we can ride th' rest of th' way in th' saddle instead of 
 in that blamed train," Red eagerly suggested. 
 
 "That's just what we can do," replied Skinny. "Leather beats 
 car-seats any time. How far are we from Sandy Creek, Simms.'"' 
 
 "About twenty miles." 
 
 "An' we can ride along th' track, too," suggested Hopalong. 
 
 "We shore can," laughed Skinny, shaking hands with the 
 train-crew: "We're some glad we rode with you this trip: we've 
 had a fine time." 
 
 "And we're glad you did," Simms repHed, "for that ain't no 
 joke, either." 
 
 Hopalong and the others had mounted and were busy waving 
 their sombreros and bowing to the heads and handkerchiefs 
 which were decorating the car-windows. 
 
 "All aboard!" shouted the conductor, and cheers and good 
 wishes rang out and were replied to by bows and waving of 
 
156 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 sombreros. Then Hopalong jerked his gun loose and emptied it 
 into the air, his companions doing hkewise. Suddenly five re- 
 ports rang out from the smoker and they cheered the fat man 
 as he waved at them. They sat quietly and watched the train 
 until the last handkerchief became lost to sight around a curve, 
 but the screeching whistle could be heard for a long time. 
 
 "Gee!" laughed Hopalong as they rode on after the train, 
 "won't th' fellers home on th' ranch be a whole lot sore when 
 they hears about the good time what they missed!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Sammy Finds a Friend 
 
 The long train ride and the excitement were over and the outfit, 
 homeward bound, loped along the trail, nosily discussing their 
 exciting and humorous experiences and laughingly commented 
 upon Hopalong's decision to follow them later. They could not 
 understand why he should be interested in a town like Sandy 
 Creek after a week spent in the city. 
 
 Back in the little cow-town their friend was standing in the 
 office of the hotel, gazing abstractedly out of the window. His 
 eyes caught and focused on a woman who was walking slowly 
 along the other side of the square and finally paused before 
 McCall's "Palace," a combination saloon, dance and gambling 
 hall. He smiled cynically as his memory ran back over those 
 other women he had seen in cow-towns and wondered how it 
 was that the men of the ranges could rise to a chivalry that was 
 famed. At that distance she was strikingly pretty. Her com- 
 plexion was an alluring blend of color that the gold of her 
 hair crowned like a burst of sunshine. He noticed that her eye- 
 brows were too prominent, too black and heavy to be Nature's 
 contribution. And there was about her a certain forwardness, 
 a dash that bespoke no bashful Miss; and her clothes, though 
 well-fitting, somehow did not please his untrained eye. A sudden 
 impulse seized him and he strode to the door and crossed the 
 dusty square, avoiding the piles of rusted cans, broken bottles 
 and other rubbish that littered it. 
 
 She had become interested in a dingy window but turned 
 to greet him with a resplendent smile as he stepped to the 
 
 157 
 
158 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 wooden walk. He noted with pleasure that the white teeth 
 displayed two shining panels of gold that drew his eyes ir- 
 resistibly; and then and there he hated gold teeth. 
 
 "Hello," she laughed. "I'm glad to see somebody that's alive 
 in this town. Ain't it awful?" 
 
 He instinctively removed his sombrero and was conscious that 
 his habitual bashfulness in the presence of members of her sex 
 was somehow lacking. "Why, I don't see nothin' extra dead 
 about it," he replied. "Most of these towns are this way in day- 
 light. Th' moths ain't out yet. You should 'a' been here last 
 night!" 
 
 "Yes? But you're out; an' you look like you might be able 
 to fly," she replied. 
 
 "Yes; I suppose so," he laughed. 
 
 "I see you wear two of 'em," she said, glancing at his guns. 
 "Ain't one of them things enough?" 
 
 "One usually is, mostly," he assented. "But I'm pig-headed, 
 so I wears two." 
 
 "Ain't it awful hard to use two of 'em at once?" she asked, 
 her tone flattering. "Then you're one of them two-gun men I've 
 heard about, ain't you?" 
 
 "An' seen?" he smiled. 
 
 "Yes, I've seen a couple. Where you goin' so early?'* 
 
 "Just lookin' th' town over," he answered, glancing over her 
 shoulder at a cub of a cowpuncher who had opened the door 
 of the "Retreat," but stopped in his tracks when he saw the 
 couple in front of McCall's. There was a look of surprised 
 interest on the cub's face, and it swiftly changed to one of en- 
 vious interest. Hopalong's glance did not linger, but swept care- 
 lessly along the row of shacks and back to his companion's face 
 without betraying his discovery. 
 
 "Well; you can look it over in about ten seconds, from th' 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND I59 
 
 outside," she rejoined. "An' it's so dusty out here. My throat is 
 awful dry abready." 
 
 He hadn't noticed any dust in the air, but he nodded. "Yes; 
 thirsty?" 
 
 "Well, it ain't polite or ladylike to say yes," she demurred, 
 "but I really am." 
 
 He held open the door of the "Palace" and preceded her to 
 the dance hall, where she rippled the keys of the old piano as 
 she swept past it. The order given and served, he sipped at his 
 glass and carried on his share of a light conversation until, 
 suddenly, he arose and made his apologies. "I got to attend to 
 somethin'," he regretted as he picked up his sombrero and 
 turned. "See you later." 
 
 "Why!" she exclaimed. "I was just beginnin' to get ac- 
 quainted!" 
 
 "A moth without money ain't no good," he smiled. "I'm 
 goin' out to find th' money. When I'm in good company I like 
 to spend. See you later?" He bowed as she nodded, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Emerging from McCall's he glanced at the "Retreat" and 
 sauntered toward it. When he entered he found the cub resting 
 his elbows on the pine bar, arguing with the bartender about 
 the cigars sold in the establishment. The cub glanced up and 
 appealed to the newcomer. "Ain't they?" he demanded. 
 
 Hopalong nodded. "I reckon so. But what is it about?" 
 
 "These cigars," explained the cub, ruefully. "I was just sayin' 
 there ain't a good one in town." 
 
 "You lose," replied Hopalong. "Are you shore you knows a 
 good cigar when you smokes it?" 
 
 "I know it so well that I ain't found one since I left Kansas 
 City. You said I lose. Do you know one well enough to be a 
 judge?" 
 
 Hopalong reached to his vest pocket, extracted a cigar and 
 
l60 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 handed it to the cub, who took it hesitatingly. "Why, I'm much 
 obliged. I — I didn't mean that — ^you know." 
 
 Hopalong nodded and rearranged the cigar's twin-brothers 
 in his pocket. He would be relieved when they were smoked, 
 for they made him nervous with their frailty. The cub lighted 
 the cigar and an unaffected grin of delight wreathed his fea- 
 tures as the smoke issued from his nostrils. "Who sells 'em?" 
 he demanded, excitedly. 
 
 "Corson an' Lukins, up th' hill from th* depot," answered 
 Hopalong. "Like it?" 
 
 "Like it! Why, stranger, I used to spend most of my week's 
 pocket money for these." He paused and stared at the smiling 
 puncher. "Did you say Corson an' Lukins?" he demanded in- 
 credulously. "Well, I'll be hanged! When was you there?" 
 
 "Last week. Here, bartender; liquor for all hands." 
 
 The cub touched the glass to his Hps and waved his hand 
 at a table. Seated across from the stranger with the heaven- 
 sent cigars he ordered the second round, and when he went 
 to pay for it he drew out a big roll of bills and peeled ofiE the 
 one on the outside. 
 
 Hopalong frowned. "Sonny," he said in a low voice, "it ain't 
 none of my affair, but you oughta put that wad away an' forget 
 you have it when out in public. You shouldn't tempt yore 
 feller men like that." 
 
 The cub laughed: "Oh, I had my eye teeth cut long ago. 
 Play a little game?" 
 
 Hopalong was amused. "Didn't I just tell you not to tempt 
 yore feller men?" 
 
 The cub grinned. "I reckon it'll fade quick, anyhow; but it 
 took me six months' hard work to get it together. It'll last about 
 six days, I suppose." 
 
 ^ "Six hours, if you plays every man that comes along," cor- 
 rected Hopalong. 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND l6l 
 
 "Well, mebby," admitted the cub. "Say: that was one fine 
 girl you was talkin' to, all right," he grinned. 
 
 Hopalong studied him a moment. "Not meanin' no ofifense, 
 what's yore name?" 
 
 "Sammy Porter; why?" 
 
 "Well, Sammy," remarked Hopalong as he arose. "I reckon 
 we'll meet again before I leave. You was remarkin' she was a 
 fine girl. I admit it; she was. So long," and he started for the 
 door. 
 
 Sammy flushed. "Why, I — I didn't mean nothin'!'* he ex- 
 claimed. "I just happened to think about her — that's all! You 
 know, I saw you talkin' to her. Of course, you saw her first," 
 he explained. 
 
 Hopalong turned and smiled kindly. "You didn't say nothin' 
 to offend me. I was just startin' when you spoke. But as long 
 as you mentioned it I'll say that my interest in th' lady was only 
 brief. Her interest in me was th' same. Beyond lettin' you know 
 that I'll add that I don't generally discuss wimmin. I'll see you 
 later," and, nodding cheerily, he went out and closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 Hopalong leaned lazily against the hotel, out of reach of the 
 spring wind, which was still sharp, and basked in the warmth 
 of the timid sun. He regarded the little cow-town cynically but 
 smilingly and found no particular fault with it. Existing be- 
 cause the railroad construction work of the season before had 
 chanced to stop on the eastern bank of the deceptive creek, and 
 because of the nearness of three drive trails, one of them im- 
 portant, the town had sprung up, mushroom-hke, almost in a 
 night. Facing on the square were two general stores, the rail- 
 road station and buildings, two restaurants, a dozen saloons 
 where gambling either was the main attraction or an ambitious 
 side-line, McCall's place and a barber shop with a dingy, bullet- 
 
l62 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 peppered red-and-white pole set close to the door. Between the 
 barber shop and McCall's was a narrow space, and the win- 
 dows of the two buildings, while not opposite, opened on the 
 little strip of ground separating them. 
 
 Rubbing a hand across his chin he regarded the barber shop 
 thoughtfully and finally pushed away from the sun-warmed wall 
 of the hotel and started lazily toward the red-and-white pole. 
 As he did so the tin-panny notes of a piano redoubled and a 
 woman's voice shrilly arose to a high note, flatted, broke and 
 swiftly dropped an octave. He squirmed and looked specula- 
 tively along the westward trail, wondering how far away his 
 outfit was and why he had not gone with them. Another soar- 
 ing note that did not flat and a crashing chord from the piano 
 were followed by a burst of uproarious, reckless laughter. Hopa- 
 long frowned, snapped his fingers in sudden decision and step- 
 ped briskly toward the barber shop as the piano began anew. 
 
 Entering quietly and closing the door softly, he glanced ap- 
 praisingly through the windows and made know his wants in 
 a low voice. "I want a shave, haircut, shampoo, an' anythin' 
 else you can think of. I'm tired an' don't want to talk. Take 
 yore own time an' do a good job; an' if I'm asleep when yo're 
 through, don't wake me till somebody else wants th' chair. 
 Savvy? All right — start in." 
 
 In McCall's a stolid bartender listened to the snatches of con- 
 versation that filtered under the door to the dance hall along- 
 side and on his face there at times flickered the suggestion of a 
 cynical smile. A heavy, dark complexioned man entered from 
 the street and glanced at the closed door of the dance hall. 
 The bartender nodded and held up a staying hand, after which 
 he shoved a drink across the bar. The heavy-set man carefully 
 wiped a few drops of spilled liquor from his white, tapering 
 hands and seated himself with a sigh of relief, and became busy 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND 163 
 
 with his thoughts until the time should come when he would 
 be needed. 
 
 On the other side of that door a little comedy was being en- 
 acted. The musician, a woman, toyed with the keys of the 
 warped and scratched piano, the dim light from the shaded 
 windows mercifully hiding the paint and the hardness of her 
 face and helping the jewelry, with which her hands were cov- 
 ered, keep its tawdry secret. 
 
 "I don't see what makes you so touchy," grumbled Sammy in 
 a pout. "I ain't goin' to hurt you if I touch yore arm." He was 
 flushed and there was a suspicious unsteadiness in his voice. 
 
 She laughed. "Why, I thought you wanted to talk?'* 
 
 "I did," he admitted, sullenly; "but there's a limit to most 
 wants. Oh, well: go ahead an' play. That last piece was all 
 right; but give us a gallop or a mazurka — anything lively. Better 
 yet, a caprice: it's in keepin' with yore temperament. If you 
 was to try to interpret mine you'd have to dig it out of Verdi 
 an' toll a funeral bell." 
 
 "Say; who told you so much about music?" she demanded. 
 
 "Th' man that makes harmonicas," he grinned. He arose and 
 took a step toward her, but she retreated swiftly, smiling. "Now 
 behave yourself, for a little while, at least. What's the' matter 
 with you, anyhow? What makes you so silly?" 
 
 "You, of course. I don't see no purty wimmin out on th' 
 range, an' you went to my head th' minute I laid eyes on you. 
 / ain't in no hurry to leave this town, now nohow." 
 
 "I'm afraid you're going to be awful when you grow up. 
 But you're a nice boy to say such pretty things. Here," she 
 said, filling his glass and handing it to him, "let's drink another 
 toast — you know such nice ones." 
 
 "Yes; an' if I don't run out of 'em purty soon I'll have to 
 hunt a solid, immovable corner somewheres; an' there ain't 
 nothin' solid or immovable about this room at present," he 
 
164 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 growled. "What you alius drinkin' to somethin' for? Well, 
 here's a toast — I don't know any more fancy ones. Here's to — 
 you!" 
 
 "That's nicer than — oh, pshaw!" she exclaimed, pouting. "An' 
 you wouldn't drink a full glass to that one. You must think I'm 
 nice, when you renig like that! Don't tell me any more pretty 
 things — an' stop right where you are! Think you can hang onto 
 me after that? Well, that's better; why didn't you do it th* 
 first time? You can be a nice boy when you want to." 
 
 He flushed angrily. "Will you stop callin' me a boy?" he de- 
 manded unsteadily. "I ain't no kid! I do a man's work, earn a 
 man's pay, an' I spend it like a man." 
 
 "An' drink a boy's drink," she teased. "You'll grow up some 
 day." She reached forward and filled his glass again, for an 
 instant letting her cheek touch his. Swiftly evading him she 
 laughed and patted him on the head. "Here, man," she taunted, 
 "drink this if you dare!" 
 
 He frowned at her but gulped down the liquor. "There, like 
 a fool!" he grumbled, bitterly. "You tryin' to get me drunk?" 
 he demanded suddenly in a heavy voice. 
 
 She threw back her head and regarded him coldly. "It will 
 do me no good. Why should I? I merely wanted to see if you 
 would take a dare, if you were a man. You are either not sober 
 now, or you are insultingly impolite. I don't care to waste any 
 more words or time with you," and she turned haughtily toward 
 the door. 
 
 He had leaned against the piano, but now he lurched forward 
 and cried out. "I'm sorry if I hurt yore feelin's that way — I shore 
 didn't mean to. Ain't we goin' to make up?" he asked, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Do you mean that?" she demanded, pausing and looking 
 around. 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND 1 65 
 
 "You know I do, Annie. Le's make up — come on; le's make 
 up." 
 
 "Well; I'll try you, an' see." 
 
 "Play some more. You play beautiful," he assured her with 
 heavy gravity. 
 
 "I'm tired of— but, say: Can you play poker?" she asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Why, shore; who can't?" 
 
 "Well, I can't, for one. I want to learn, so I can win my money 
 back from Jim. He taught me, but all I had time to learn was 
 how to lose." 
 
 Sammy regarded her in puzzled surprise and gradually the 
 idea became plain. "Did he teach you, an' win money from 
 you? Did he keep it?" he finally blurted, his face flushed a 
 deeper red from anger. 
 
 She nodded. "Why, yes; why?" 
 
 He looked around for his sombrero, muttering savagely. 
 
 "Where you goin'?" she asked in surprise. 
 
 "To get it back. He ain't goin' to keep it, th' coyote!" 
 
 "Why, he won't give it back to you if he wouldn't to me. 
 Anyhow, he won it." 
 
 "Won it!" he snapped. "He stole it, that's how much he won 
 it. He'll give it back or get shot." 
 
 "Now look here," she said, quickly. "You ain't goin' gunnin' 
 for no friend of mine. If you want to get that money for me, an' 
 I certainly can use it about now, you got to try some other way. 
 Say! Why don't you win it from him?" she exulted. "That's th' 
 way — get it back th' way it went." 
 
 He weighed her words and a grin slowly crept across his 
 face. "Why, I reckon you called it, that time, Annie. That's 
 th' way I'll try first anyhow, Li'l Girl. Where is this good friend 
 of yourn that steals yore money? Where is this feller?" 
 
 As if in answer to his inquiry the heavy-set man strolled in. 
 
l66 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 humming cheerily. And as he did so the sleepy occupant o£ the 
 barber's chair slowly awoke, rubbed his eyes, stretched luxuri- 
 ously and, paying his bill, loafed out and lazily sauntered down 
 the street, swearing softly. 
 
 "Why, here he is now," laughed the woman. "You must 'a' 
 heard us talkin' about you, Jim. I'm goin' to get my money 
 back — this is Mr. Porter, Jim, who's goin' to do it." 
 
 The gambler smiled and held out his hand. "Howd'y, Mr. 
 Porter," he said. 
 
 Sammy glared at him: "Put yore paw down," he said, thickly. 
 "I ain't shakin' ban's with no dogs or tin-horns." 
 
 The gambler recoiled and flushed, fighting hard to repress 
 his anger. "What you mean?" he growled, furiously. 
 
 "What I said. If you want revenge sit down there an' play, 
 if you've got th' nerve to play with a man. I never let no coyote 
 steal a woman's money, an' I'm goin' to get Annie her twenty. 
 Savvy?" 
 
 The gambler's reply was a snarl. "Play!" he sneered. "I'll play^ 
 all right. It'll take more'n a sassy kid to get that money back, 
 too. I'm goin' to take yore last red cent. You can't talk to me 
 like that an' get it over. An' don't let me hear you call her 
 'Annie' no more, neither. Yo're too cussed familiar!" 
 
 Her hand on Sammy's arm stopped the draw and he let 
 the gun drop back into the holster. "No!" she whispered. "Make 
 a fool of him, Sammy! Beat him at his own game." 
 
 Sammy nodded and scowled blackly. "I call th' names as suits 
 me," he retorted. "When I see you on th' street I'm goin' to 
 call you some that I'm savin' up now because a lady's present. 
 They're hefty, too." 
 
 At first he won, but always small amounts. Becoming reck- 
 less, he plunged heavily on a fair hand and lost. He plunged 
 again on a better hand and lost. Then he steadied as much as 
 his befuddled brain would permit and played a careful game. 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND 167 
 
 winning a small pot. Another small winning destroyed his cau- 
 tion and he plunged again, losing heavily. Steadying himself 
 once more he began a new deal with excess caution and was 
 bluffed out of the pot, the gambler sneeringly showing his 
 cards as he threw them down. Sammy glanced around to say 
 something to the woman, but found she had gone. "Aw, never 
 mind her!" growled his opponent. "She'll be back — she can't 
 stay away from a kid like you." 
 
 The woman was passing through the barroom and, winking 
 at the bartender, opened the door and stepped to the street. 
 She smiled as she caught sight of the limping stranger coming 
 toward her. He might have found money, but she was certain 
 he had found something else and in generous quantities. He 
 removed his sombrero with an exaggerated sweep of his hand 
 and hastened to meet her, walking with the conscious erectness 
 of a man whose feet are the last part of him to succumb. "Hullo, 
 Sugar," he grinned. "I found some, a'right. Now we'll have some 
 music. Come 'long." 
 
 "There ain't no hurry," she answered. "We'll take a little 
 walk first." 
 
 "No, we won't. We'll have some music an' somethin' to drink. 
 If you won't make th' music, I will; or shoot up th' machine. 
 Come 'long, Sugar," he leered, pushing open the door with a 
 resounding slam. He nodded to the bartender and apologized. 
 "No harm meant. Friend. It sorta slipped; jus' slipped, tha's all. 
 Th' young lady an' me is goin' to have some music. What? 
 All right for you. Sugar! Then I'll make it myself," and he 
 paraded stifHy toward the inner door. 
 
 The bartender leaned suddenly forward. "Keep out of there! 
 You'll bust that planner!" 
 
 The puncher stopped with a jerk, swung ponderously on his 
 heel and leveled a forefinger at the dispenser of drinks. "I won't," 
 he said. "An* if I do, I'll pay for it. Come on. Sugar — le's play 
 
l68 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 th' old thing, jus' for spite." Grasping her arm he gently but 
 firmly escorted her into the dance hall and seated her at the 
 piano. As he straightened up he noticed the card players and, 
 bowing low to her, turned and addressed them. 
 
 "Gents," he announced, bowing again, "we are goin' to have 
 a li'l music an' we hopes you won't objec'. Not that we gives a 
 hoot, but we jus' hopes you won't." He laughed loudly at his 
 joke and leaned against the piano. "Let 'er go," he cried, beat- 
 ing time. "Allaman le£' an' ladies change! Swing yore partner's 
 gal — I mean, swing some other gal: but what's th' difl'rence? 
 All join ban's an' hop to th' middle — ^nope! It's all ban's roun' 
 an' swing 'em again. But it don't make no diff'rence, does it. 
 Lulu.?" He whooped loudly and marched across the room, exe- 
 cuted a few fancy steps and marched back again. As he passed 
 the card table Sammy threw down his hand and arose with a 
 curse. The marcher stopped, fiddled a bit with his feet until 
 obtaining his balance, and then regarded the youth quizzically. 
 "S'matter, Sonny?" he inquired. 
 
 Sammy scowled, slowly recognized the owner of the im- 
 ported cigars and shook his head. "Big ban's, but not big enough; 
 an' I lost my pile." Staggering to the piano he plumped down 
 on a chair near it and watched the rippling fingers of the player 
 in drunken interest. 
 
 The hilarious cowpuncher, leaning backward perilously, re- 
 covered his poise for a moment and then lurched forward into 
 the chair the youth had just left. "Come on, pardner," he grin- 
 ned across at the gambler. "Le's gamble. I been honin' for a 
 game, an' here she is." He picked up the cards, shuffled them 
 clumsily and pushed them out for the cut. The gambler hesi- 
 tated, considered and then turned over a jack. He lost the deal 
 and shoved out a quarter without interest. 
 
 The puncher leaned over, looked at it closely and grinned. 
 "Two bits? That ain't poker; that's — that's dominoes!" he 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND IO9 
 
 blurted, angrily, with the quick change of mood of a man in 
 his cups. 
 
 "I ain't anxious to play," replied the gambler. "I'll kill a li'l 
 time at a two-bit game, though. Otherwise I'll quit." 
 
 "A'right," replied the dealer. "I didn't expec' nothin' else from 
 a tin-horn, no-how. I want two cards after you get yourn." The 
 gambler called on the second raise and smiled to himself when 
 he saw that his opponent had drawn to a pair and an ace. He 
 won on his own deal and on the one following. 
 
 The puncher increased the ante on the fourth deal and looked 
 up inquiringly, a grin on his face. "Le's move out th' infant 
 class," he suggested. 
 
 The gambler regarded him sharply. "Well, th' other was 
 sorta tender," he admitted, nodding. 
 
 The puncher pulled out a handful of gold coins and clumsily 
 tried to stack them, which he succeeded in doing after three 
 attempts. He was so busy that he did not notice the look in 
 the other's eyes. Picking up his hand he winked at it and dis- 
 carded one. "Goin' to raise th' ante a few," he chuckled. "I got 
 a feelin' I'm goin' t' be lucky." When the card was dealt to 
 him he let it lay and bet heavily. The gambler saw it and raised 
 in turn, and the puncher, frowning in indecision, nodded his 
 head wisely and met it, calling as he did so. His four fives were 
 just two spots shy to win and he grumbled loudly at his luck. 
 "Huh," he finished, "she's a jack pot, eh?" He slid a double 
 eagle out to the center of the table and laughed recklessly. 
 The deals went around rapidly, each one calling for a ten- 
 dollar sweetener and when the seventh hand was dealt the 
 puncher picked his cards and laughed. "She's open," he cried, 
 "for fifty," and shoved out the money with one hand while he 
 dug up a reserve pile from his pocket with the other. 
 
 The gambler saw the opener and raised it fifty, smiling at 
 his opponent's expression. The puncher grunted his surprise, 
 
170 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Studied his hand, glanced at the pot and shrugging his should- 
 ers, saw the raise. He drew two cards and chuckled as he slid 
 them into his hand; but before the dealer could make his own 
 draw the puncher's chuckle died out and he stared over the 
 gambler's shoulder. With an oath he jerked out his gun and 
 fired. The gambler leaped to his feet and whirled around to 
 look behind. Then he angrily faced the frowning puncher. 
 "What you think yo're doin'?" he demanded, his hand resting 
 inside his coat, the thumb hooked over the edge of the vest. 
 
 The puncher waved his hand apologetically. "I never have 
 no luck when I sees a cat," he explained. "A black cat is worse; 
 but a yaller one's bad enough. I'll bet that yaller devil won't 
 come back in a hurry — ^judgin' by th' way it started. I won't 
 miss him, if he does." 
 
 The gambler, still frowning, glanced at the deck suspiciously 
 and saw that it lay as he had dropped it. The bartender, grin- 
 ning at them from the door, cracked a joke and went back to 
 the bar. Sammy, after a wild look around, settled back in his 
 chair and soothed the pianist a little before going back to 
 sleep. 
 
 Drawing two cards the gambler shoved them in his hand 
 without a change in his expression — ^but he was greatly puzzled. 
 It was seldom that he bungled and he was not certain that he 
 had. The discard contained the right number of cards and his 
 opponent's face gave no hint to the thoughts behind it. He 
 hesitated before he saw the bet — ten dollars was not much, for 
 the size of the pot justified more. He slowly saw it, willing to 
 lose the ten in order to see his opponent's cards. There was 
 something he wished to know, and he wanted to know it as 
 soon as he could. "I call that," he said. The puncher's expres- 
 sion of tenseness relaxed into one of great relief and he hur- 
 riedly dropped his cards. Three kings, an eight, and a deuce was 
 his offering. The gambler laid down a pair of queens, a ten, an 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND I71 
 
 eight and a four, waved his hand and smiled. "It's just as well 
 I didn't draw another queen," he observed, calmly. "I might 'a' 
 raised once for luck." 
 
 The puncher raked in the pot and turned around in his chair. 
 "I cleaned up that time," he exulted to the woman. She had 
 stopped playing and was stroking Sammy's forehead. Smiling at 
 the exuberant winner she nodded. "You should have let the 
 cat stay — I think it really brought you luck." He shook his head 
 emphatically. "No, ma'am! It was chasin' it away as did that. 
 That's what did it, a'right." 
 
 The gambler glanced quickly at the two top cards on the 
 deck and was picking up those scattered on the table when his 
 opponent turned around again. How that queen and ten had 
 got two cards too deep puzzled him greatly — ^he was willing 
 to wager even money that he would not look away again until 
 the game was finished, not if all the cats in the world were 
 being slaughtered. One hundred and ninety dollars was too 
 much money to pay for being caught ofl his guard, as he was 
 tempted to believe he had been. He did not know how much 
 liquor the other had consumed, but he seemed to be sobering 
 rapidly. 
 
 The next few deals did not amount to much. Then a jackpot 
 came around and was pushed hard. The puncher was dealing 
 and as he picked up the deck after the cut he grinned and 
 winked. "Th' skirmishin' now bein' over, th' battle begins. If 
 that cat stays away long enough mebby I'll make a killin'." 
 
 "All right; but don't make no more gun-plays," warned the 
 gambler, coldly. "I alius get excited when I smells gun-powder 
 an' I do reckless things sometimes," he added, significantly. 
 
 "Then I shore hopes you keep ca'm," laughed the puncher, 
 loud enough to be heard over the noise of the piano, which 
 was now going again. 
 
 The pot was sweetened three times and then the gambler 
 
172 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 dealt his opponent openers. The puncher looked anxiously 
 through the door, grinning coltishly. He slowly pushed out 
 twenty dollars. "There's th' key," he grunted. "A'right; see that 
 an' raise you back. Good for you! I'm stayin' an' boostin' same 
 as ever. Fine! See it again, an' add this. I'm playin' with yore 
 money, so I c'n afford to be reckless. All right; I'm satisfied, 
 too. Gimme one li'l card. I shore am glad I don't need th' 
 king o£ hearts — ^that was shore on th' bottom when th' deal 
 begun." 
 
 The gambler, having drawn, cursed and reached swiftly to- 
 ward his vest pocket; but he stopped suddenly and contemplated 
 the Colt that peeked over the edge of the table. It looked 
 squarely at his short ribs and was backed by a sober, angry man 
 who gazed steadily into his eyes. "Drop that hand," said the 
 puncher in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by the other 
 over the noise of the piano. "I never did like them shoulder 
 holsters — I carry my irons where everybody can see 'em." Lean- 
 ing forward swiftly he reached out his left hand and cautiously 
 turned over the other's cards. The fourth one was the king of 
 hearts. "Don't move," he whispered, not wishing to have the 
 bartender take a hand from behind. "An' don't talk," he warned 
 as he leaned farther forward and shoved his Colt against the 
 other's vest and with his left hand extracted a short-barreled 
 gun from the sheath under the gambler's armpit. Sinking back 
 in his chair he listened a moment and, raking in the pot, stowed 
 it away with the other winnings in his pockets. 
 
 The gambler stirred, but stopped as the Colt leaped like a 
 flash of light to the edge of the table. "Tin-horn," said the 
 puncher, softly, "you ain't slick enough. I didn't stop you when 
 you wanted that queen an' ten because I wanted you to go on 
 with th' crookedness. Yaller cats is more unlucky to you than 
 they are to me. But when I saw that last play I lost my temper; 
 an' I stopped you. Now if you'll cheat with me, you'll cheat 
 
SAMMY FINDS A FRIEND 173 
 
 with a drunk boy. So, havin' cheated him, you really stole his 
 money away from him. That bein' so, you will dig up six 
 month's wages at about fifty per month. I'd shoot you just as 
 quick as I'd shoot a snake; so don't get no fool notions in yore 
 head. Dig it right up." 
 
 The gambler studied the man across from him, but after a 
 moment he silently placed some money on the table. "It was 
 only two forty," he observed, holding to three double eagles. 
 The puncher nodded: "I'll take yore word for that. Now, in th' 
 beginnin' I only wanted to get th' boy his money; but when you 
 started cheatin' against me I changed my mind. I played fair. 
 Now here's your short-five," he said as he shd the gun across 
 the table. "Mebby you might want to use it sometime," he 
 smiled. "Now you vamoose; an' if I see you in town after th' 
 next train leaves, I'll make you use that shoulder holster. An' 
 tell yore friends that Hopalong Cassidy says, that for a coun- 
 try where men can tote their hardware in plain sight, a shoulder 
 layout ain't no good: you gotta reach too high. Adios." 
 
 He watched the silent, philosophical man-of-cards walk slowly 
 toward the door, upright, dignified and calm. Then he turned 
 and approached the piano. "Sister," he said, politely, "yore gam- 
 blin' friend is leavin' town on th' next train. He has pressin' 
 business back east a couple of stations an' wonders if you'll join 
 him at th' depot in time for th' next train." 
 
 She had stopped playing and was staring at him in amaze- 
 ment. "Why didn't he came an' tell me himself, 'stead of sneakin' 
 away an' sendin' you over?" she at last demanded, angrily. 
 
 "Well, he wanted to, but he saw a man an' slipped out with 
 his gun in his hand. Mebby there'll be trouble; but I dunno. 
 I'm just tellin' you. Gee," he laughed, looking at the snoring 
 youth in the chair, "he got that quick. Why, I saw him less'n 
 two hours ago an' he was sober as a judge. Reckon I'll take him 
 over to th' hotel an' put him to bed." He went over to the 
 
174 ""^^ COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 helpless Sammy, shook him and made him get on his feet. 
 "Come along, Kid," he said, slipping his arm under the sagging 
 shoulder. "We'll get along. Good-by, Sugar," and, supporting 
 the feebly protesting cub, he slowly made his way to the rear 
 door and was gone, a grin wreathing his face as he heard the 
 chink of gold coins in his several pockets. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Sammy Knows The Game 
 
 A CLEAN-CUT, good-looking young cowpuncher limped slightly 
 as he passed the postoffice and found a seat on a box in front 
 of the store next door. He sighed with relief and gazed cheer- 
 fully at the littered square as though it was something worth 
 looking at. The night had not been a pleasant one because 
 Sammy Porter had insisted upon either singing or snoring; and 
 when breakfast was announced the youth almost had recovered 
 his senses and was full of remorse and a raging thirst. Being 
 flatly denied the hair of the dog that bit him he grew eloquently 
 profane and very abusive. Hence Mr. Cassidy's fondness for the 
 box. 
 
 Sounds obtruded. They were husky and had dimensions and 
 they came from the hotel bar. After increasing in volume and 
 carrying power they were followed to the street by a disheveled 
 youth who kicked open the door and blinked in the sunlight. 
 Espying the contented individual on the box he shook an earn- 
 est first at that person and tried next door. In a moment he 
 followed a new burst of noise to the street and shook the other 
 fist. Trying the saloon on the other side of the hotel without 
 success he shook both fists and once again tried the hotel bar, 
 where he proceeded along lines tactful, flattering and diplomatic. 
 Only yesterday he had owned a gun, horse and other personal 
 belongings; he had possessed plenty of money, a clear head and 
 his sins sat lightly on his youthful soul. He still had the sins, 
 but they had grown in weight. Tact availed him nothing, flat- 
 tery was futile and diplomacy was in vain. To all his arguments 
 
 175 
 
176 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 the bartender sadly shook his head, not because Sammy had no 
 money, which was the reason he gave, but because o£ vivid 
 remembrance of the grimness with which a certain red-haired, 
 straight-Hpped, two-gun cowpuncher had made known his re- 
 quest. "Let him sufler," had said the gunman. "It'll be a good 
 lesson for him. Understand; not a drop!" And the bartender 
 had understood. To the drink-dispenser's refusal Sammy replied 
 with a masterpiece of eloquence and during its delivery the bar- 
 tender stood with his hand on a mallet, but too spellbound to 
 throw it. Wheeling at the close of a vivid, soaring climax, 
 Sammy yanked open the door again and stood transfixed with 
 amazement and hostile envy. His new and officious friend surely 
 knew the right system with women. To the burning indignities 
 of the morning this added the last straw and Sammy bitterly 
 resolved not to forget his wrongs. 
 
 Had Mr. Cassidy been a kitten he would have purred with 
 delight as he watched his youthful friend's vain search for the 
 hair of the dog, and his grin was threatening to engulf his ears 
 when the Cub slammed into the hotel. Hearing the beating of 
 hoofs he glanced around and saw a trim, pretty young lady 
 astride a trim, high-spirited pony; and both were thoroughbreds 
 if he was any judge. They bore down upon him at a smart lope 
 and stopped at the edge of the walk. The rider leaped from 
 the saddle and ran toward him with her hand outstretched 
 and her face aglow with a delighted surprise. Her eyes fairly 
 danced with welcome and rehef and her cheeks, reddened by 
 the thrust of the wind for more than twenty miles, flamed a 
 deeper red, through which streaks of creamy white played fas- 
 cinatingly. "Dick Ellsworth!" she cried. "When did you get 
 here?" 
 
 Mr. Cassidy stumbled to his feet, one hand instinctively go- 
 ing out to the one held out to him, the other fiercely gripping 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME I77 
 
 his sombrero. His face flamed under its tan and he mumbled 
 an incoherent reply. 
 
 "Don't you remember me?" she chided, a roguish, half-serious 
 expression flashing over her countenance. "Not little Annie, 
 whom you taught to ride? I used to think I needed you then, 
 Dick; but oh, how I need you now. It's Providence, nothing else, 
 that sent you. Father's gone steadily worse and now all he 
 cares for is a bottle. Joe, the new foreman, has full chargte 
 of everything and he's not only robbing us right and left, but 
 he's — ^he's bothering mel When I complain to father of his at- 
 tentions all I get is a foolish grin. If you only knew how I 
 have prayed for you to come back, Dick! Two bitter years of it. 
 But now everything is all right. Tell me about yourself while 
 I get the mail and then we'll ride home together. I suppose 
 Joe will be waiting for me somewhere on the trail; he usually 
 does. Did you ever hate anyone so much you wanted to kill 
 him?" she demanded fiercely, beside herself for the moment. 
 
 Hopalong nodded. "Well, yes; I have," he answered. "But 
 you mustn't. What's his name? We'll have to look into this." 
 
 "Joe Worth; but let's forget him for awhile," she smiled. "I'll 
 get the mail while you go after your horse." 
 
 He nodded and watched her enter the post-office and then 
 turned and walked thoughtfully away. She was mounted when 
 he returned and they swung out of the town at a lope. 
 
 "Where have you been, and what have you been doing?" 
 she asked as they pushed along the firm, hard trail. 
 
 'Tunchin' for th' Bar-20, southwest of here. I wouldn't 'a' 
 been here today only I let th' outfit ride on without me. We 
 just got back from Kansas City a couple of days back. But let's 
 get at this here Joe Worth prop'sition. I'm plumb curious. How 
 long's he been pesterin' you?" 
 
 "Nearly two years — I can't stand it much longer." 
 
 "An' th' outfit don't cut in?" 
 
178 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "They're his friends, and they understand that father wants 
 it so. You'll not know father, Dick: I never thought a man 
 could change so. Mother's death broke him as though he were 
 a reed." 
 
 "Hum!" he grunted. "You ain't carin' how this coyote is 
 stopped, just so he is?" 
 
 "No!" she flashed. 
 
 "An' he'll be waitin' for you?" 
 
 "He usually is." 
 
 He grinned. "Le's hope he is this time." He was silent a mo- 
 ment and looked at her curiously. "I don't know how you'll take 
 it, but I got a surprise for you — a big one. I'm shore sorry to 
 admit it, but I ain't th' man you think. I ain't Dick What's- 
 his-name, though it shore ain't my fault. I reckon I must look a 
 heap like him; an' I hope I can act like him in this here matter. 
 I want to see it through like he would, I can do as good a job, 
 too. But it ain't nowise fair nor right to pretend I'm him. I 
 ain't." 
 
 She was staring at him in a way he did not like. "Not Dick 
 Ellsworth!" she gasped. "You are not Dick?" 
 
 "I'm shore sorry — but I'd like to play his cards. I'm honin' 
 for to see this here Joe Worth," he nodded, cheerfully. 
 
 "And you let me believe you were?" she demanded coldly. 
 "You deliberately led me to talk as I did?" 
 
 "Well, now; I didn't just know what to do. You shore was 
 in trouble, which was bad. I reckoned mebby I could get you 
 out of it an' then go along 'bout my business. You ain't goin' 
 to stop me a-doin' it, are you?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 Her reply was a slow, contemptuous look that missed noth- 
 ing and that left nothing to be said. Her horse did not like to 
 stand, anyway, and sprang eagerly forward in answer to the 
 sudden pressure of her knees. She rode the high-strung bay 
 with superb art, angry, defiant, and erect as a statue. Hopalong, 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME I79 
 
 shaking his head slowly, gazed after her and when she had be- 
 come a speck on the plain he growled a question to his horse 
 and turned sullenly toward the town. Riding straight to the 
 hotel he held a short, low-voiced conversation with the clerk 
 and then sought his friend, the Cub. This youthful grouch 
 was glaring across the bar at the red-faced, angry man behind 
 it, and the atmosphere was not one of peace. The Cub turned 
 to see who the newcomer was and thereupon transferred his 
 glare to the smiling puncher. 
 
 "Hullo, Kid," breezed Hopalong. 
 
 "You go to blazes!" growled Sammy, remembering to speak 
 respectfully to his elders. He backed off cautiously until he 
 could keep both of his enemies under his eyes. 
 
 Hopalong's grin broadened. He dug into his pockets and pro- 
 duced a large sum of money. "Here, Kid," said he, stepping 
 forward and thrusting it into Sammy's paralyzed hands. "Take 
 it an' buy all th' liquor you wants. You can get yore gun 
 ofl'n th' clerk, an' he'll tell you where to find yore cayuse an' 
 other belongings. I gotta leave town." 
 
 Sammy stared at the money in his hand. "What's this?" he 
 demanded, his face flushing angrily. 
 
 "Money," replied Hopalong. "It's that shiny stuff you buys 
 things with. Spondulix, cash, mazuma. You spend it, you 
 know." 
 
 Sammy sputtered. He might have frothed had his mouth not 
 been so dry. "Is it?" he demanded with great sarcasm. "I thought 
 mebby it was cows, or buttons. What you handin' it to me for? 
 I ain't no beggar!" 
 
 Hopalong chuckled. "That money's yourn. I pried it loose 
 from th' tin-horn that stole it from you. I also, besides, pried 
 off a few chunks more; but them's mine. I alius pays myself good 
 wages; an' th' aforesaid chunks is plenty an' generous. Amen." 
 
 Sammy regarded his smiling friend with a frank suspicion 
 
l80 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 that was brutal. The pleasing bulge of the pockets reassured 
 him and he slowly pocketed his rescued wealth. He growled 
 something doubtless meant for thanks and turned to the bar. 
 "A large chunk of th' Mojave Desert slid down my throat las' 
 night an' I'm so dry I rustles in th' breezes. Let's wet down a 
 li'l." Having extracted some of the rustle he eyed his companion 
 suspiciously. "Thought you was a stranger hereabouts.?" 
 
 "You've called it." 
 
 "Huh! Then I'm goin' to stick close to you an get acquainted 
 with th' female population of th' towns we hit. An' I had alius 
 reckoned lightnin' was quick!" he soliloquized, regretfully- 
 "How'd you do it?" he demanded. 
 
 Hopalong was gazing over his friend's head at a lurid chromo 
 portraying the Battle of Bull Run and he pursed his lips thought- 
 fully. "That shore was some slaughter," he commented. "Well, 
 Kid," he said, holding out his hand, "I'm leaving'. If you ever 
 gets down my way an' wants a good job, drop in an' see us. 
 Th' clerk'll tell you how to get there. An' th' next time you 
 gambles, stay sober." 
 
 "Hey! Wait a minute!" exclaimed Sammy. "Goin' home 
 now?" 
 
 "Can't say as I am, direct.'* 
 
 "Comin' back here before you do?" 
 
 "Can't say that, neither. Life is plumb oncertain an' gunplay's 
 even worse. Mebby I will if I'm alive." 
 
 "Who you gunnin' for? Can't I take a hand?" 
 
 "Reckon not, Sammy. Why, I'm cuttin' in where I ain't 
 wanted, even if I am needed. But it's my duty. It's a heck of a 
 community as waits for a total stranger to do its work for it. 
 If yo're around an' I come back, why I'll see you again. Mean- 
 while, look out for tin-horns." 
 
 Sammy followed him outside and grasped his arm. "I can 
 hold up my end in an argument," he asserted fiercely. "You 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME l8l 
 
 went an' did me a good turn — lemme do you one. I£ it's any- 
 thin' to do with that h'l girl you met to-day I won't cut in — 
 only on th' trouble end. I'm particular strong on th' trouble 
 part. Look here: Ain't a friend got no rights?" 
 
 Hopalong warmed to the eager youngster — he was so much 
 like Jimmy; and Jimmy, be it known, could bedevil Hopalong 
 as much as any man alive and not even get an unkind word 
 for it. "I'm scared to let you come, Kid; she'd fumigate th' 
 ranch when you left. Th' last twenty-four hours has outlawed 
 you, all right. You keep to th' brush trails in th' draws — don't 
 cavort none on skylines till you lose that biled owl look." He 
 laughed at the other's expression and placed his hands on the 
 youth's shoulders. "That ain't it, Kid; I never apologizes, seri- 
 ous, for th' looks of my friends. They're my friends, drunk or 
 sober, in jail or out of it. I just can't see how you can cut in 
 proper. Better wait for me here — I'll turn up, all right. Mean- 
 while, as I says before, look out for tin-horns." 
 
 Sammy watched him ride away, and then slammed his som- 
 brero on the ground and jumped on it, after which he felt re- 
 lieved. Procuring his gun from the clerk he paused to cross- 
 examine, but after a fruitless half hour he sauntered out, hiding 
 his vexation, to wrestle with the problem in the open. Passing 
 the window of a general store he idly glanced at the meager 
 display behind the dusty glass and a sudden grin transfigured 
 his countenance. He would find out about the girl first and 
 that would help him solve the puzzle. Thinking thus he wan- 
 dered in carelessly and he wandered out again gravely clutch- 
 ing a small package. Slipping behind the next building he 
 tore off the paper and carefully crumpled and soiled with dust 
 the purchase. Then he went down to the depot and followed 
 the railroad tracks toward the other side of the square. Reach- 
 ing the place where the south trail crossed the tracks he left 
 them and walked slowly toward a small depression that was 
 
1 82 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 surrounded by hoofprints. He stooped quickly and straightened 
 up with a woman's handkerchief dangUng from his fingers. He 
 grinned foolishly, examined it, sniffed at it and scratched his 
 head while he cogitated. A decisive wave of his hand appraised 
 the two spectators that he had arrived at a conclusion, which 
 he bore out by heading straight for the postoffice, which was 
 a part of the grocery store. The postmaster and grocer, in per- 
 son one, watched his approach with frank curiosity. 
 
 Sammy nodded and went in the store, followed by the pro- 
 prietor. "Howd'y," he remarked, producing the handkerchief. 
 "Just picked this up over on th' trail. Know who dropped it?" 
 
 "Annie Allison, I reckon," replied the other. "She came in 
 that way from th' Bar-U. Want to leave it?" 
 
 Sammy considered. "Why, I might as well take it to her — 
 I'm goin' down there purty soon. Don't know any other ranch 
 that might use a broncho-buster, do you?" 
 
 The proprietor shook his head. "No; most folks 'round here 
 bust their own. Perfessional?" 
 
 Sammy nodded. "Yes. Here, gimme twobits' worth of them 
 pep'mint lozengers. Yes, it shore is fine; but it'll rain before 
 long. Well, by-by." 
 
 The bartender of the "Retreat" sniffed suspiciously and eyed 
 the open door thoughtfully, holding aloft the bar-mop while he 
 considered. Then he put the mop on the bar and went to the 
 door, where he peered out. "Huh!" he grunted. "Hogin' that?" 
 he sarcastically inquired. Sammy held out the bag and led the 
 way to the bar. "Where's th' Bar-U? Yes? Do their own bron- 
 cho-bustin'? Who, me? Ain't nothin' on laigs can throw me, 
 includin' humans an' bartenders. What? Well, what you want 
 to get all skinned up for, for nothin'? Five dollars? If you 
 must lose it I might as well have it. One fall? All right; come 
 out here an' get it." 
 
 The bartender chuckled and vaulted the counter as advance 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME 183 
 
 notice of his agility and physical condition, and immediately 
 there ensued a soft shuffling. Suddenly the building shook and 
 dusted itself and Sammy arose and stepped back, smiling at his 
 victim. "Thanks," he remarked. "Good money was spent on 
 part of my education — ^boxin' bein' th' other half. Now, for five 
 more, where can't I hit you?" 
 
 "Behind th' bar," grinned the other; "I got deadly weapons 
 there. Look here!" he exclaimed hurriedly as a great idea struck 
 him. "Everybody 'round here will back their wrastlin' reckless; 
 le's team up an' make some easy money. I'll make th' bets an' 
 you win 'em. Split even. What say?" 
 
 "Later on, mebby. What'd you say that Bar-U foreman's 
 name was?" 
 
 The bartender's reply was supplemented by a pious suggestion. 
 "An' if you wrastles him, bust his cussed neck!" 
 
 "Why this friendship?" queried Sammy, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, just for general principles." 
 
 Sammy bought cigars, left some lozenges and went out to 
 search for his horse, which he duly found. Inwardly he was 
 elated and he flexed his muscles and made curious motions 
 with his arms, which caused the pie-bald to show the whites 
 of its eyes wickedly and flatten its ragged ears. Its actions were 
 Justified, for a left hand darted out and slapped the wrinkling 
 muzzle, deftly escaping the clicking teeth. Then the warlike 
 pie-bald reflected judiciously as it chewed the lozenge. The 
 eyes showed less white and the ears, moving forward and back, 
 compromised by one staying forward. The candy was old and 
 stale and the sting of the mint was negligible, but the sugar 
 was much in evidence. When the hand darted out again the 
 answering nip was playful and the ears were set rigidly for- 
 ward. Sammy laughed, slipped several more lozenges into the 
 ready mouth, vaulted lightly to the saddle and rode slowly 
 toward the square. The pie-bald kicked mildly and reached 
 
184 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 around to nip at the stirrup, and then went on about its busi- 
 ness as any well-broken cow pony should. 
 
 Reaching the square Sammy drew rein suddenly and watched 
 a horseman who was riding away from the "Retreat." Waiting 
 a few minutes Sammy spurred forward to the saloon and 
 called the bartender out to him. "Who was that feller that just 
 left?" he asked, curiously. 
 
 "Joe Worth, th' man yo're goin' to strike for that job» 
 Why don't you catch him now an' mebby save yoreself a day's 
 ride?" 
 
 "Good idea," endorsed Sammy. "See you later," and the youth 
 wheeled and loped toward the trail, but drew rein when hid- 
 den from the "Retreat" by some buildings. He watched the 
 distant horseman until he became a mere dot and then Sammy 
 pushed on after him. There was a satisfied look on his face 
 and he chuckled as he cogitated. "I shore got th' drift of this; 
 I know th' game! Wonder how Cassidy got onto it?" He 
 laughed contentedly. "Well, five hundred ain't too little to spUt 
 two ways; an' mebby it is a two-man job. Mr. Joe Worth, who 
 was once Mr. George Atkins, I wouldn't give a peso for yore 
 chances after I get th' lay of th' ground an' find out yore 
 habits. Yo're goin' back to Willow Springs as shore as 'dogies' 
 hang 'round water holes. An' you'll shore dance their tune 
 when you gets there." 
 
 Mr. Cassidy, arriving at the Bar-U, asked for the foreman 
 and was told that the boss was in town, but would be back 
 sometime in the afternoon. The newcomer replied that he would 
 return later and, carefully keeping out of sight of the ranch 
 house as well as he could, he wheeled and rode back the w^ay 
 he had come, being very desirous to have a good look at the 
 foreman before they met. Arriving at an arroyo several miles 
 north of the ranch he turned into it and, leaving his horse 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME 185 
 
 picketed on good grass along the bottom, he cUmbed to a posi- 
 tion where he could see the trail without being seen. Having 
 settled himself comfortably he improved the wait by trying to 
 think out the best way to accomplish the work he had set him- 
 self to do. Shooting was too common and hardly justifiable 
 unless Mr. Worth forced the issue with weapons of war. 
 
 The time passed slowly and he was relieved when a horse- 
 man appeared far to the north and jogged toward him, riding 
 with the careless grace of one at home in the saddle. Being 
 thoroughly famiHar with the trail and the surrounding country 
 the rider looked straight ahead as if attention to the distance 
 yet untraveled might make it less. He passed within twenty 
 feet of the watcher and went on his way undisturbed. Hopa- 
 long waited until he was out of sight around a hill and then, 
 vaulting into the saddle, rode after him, still puzzled as to how 
 he would proceed about the business in hand. He dismounted at 
 the bunkhouse and nodded to those who Hngered near the wash 
 bench awaiting their turn. 
 
 "Just in time to feed," remarked one of the punchers. "Watch 
 yore turn at th' basins — every man for hisself 's th* rule." 
 
 "All right," Hopalong laughed. "But is there any chance to 
 get a job here?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "You'll have to quiz th' Ol' Man — ^here he comes now," and 
 the puncher waved at the approaching foreman. "Hey, Joe! 
 Got a job for this hombre?" he called. 
 
 The foreman keenly scrutinized the newcomer, as he always 
 examined strangers. The two guns swinging low on the hips 
 caught his eyes instantly but he showed no particular interest 
 in them, notwithstanding the fact that they proclaimed a gun- 
 man. "Why I reckon I got a job for you," he said. "I been 
 waitin' to keep somebody over on Cherokee Range. But it's 
 time to eat: we'll talk later." 
 
 After the meal the outfit passed the time in various ways 
 
1 86 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 until bed-time, the foreman talking to the new member of his 
 family. During the night the foreman awakened several times 
 and looked toward the newcomer's bunk but found nothing 
 suspicious. After breakfast he called Hopalong and one of the 
 others to him. "Ned," he said, "take Cassidy over to his range 
 and come right back. Hey, Charley! You an' Jim take them 
 poles down to th' ford an' fence in that quicksand just south 
 of it, Ben says he's been doin' nothin' but pullin' cows outen 
 it. All right, Tim; comin' right away." 
 
 Ned and the new puncher lost no time but headed east at 
 once with a packhorse carrying a week's provisions for one 
 man. The country grew rougher rapidly and when they finally 
 reached the divide a beautiful sight lay below them, stretching 
 as far as eye could see to the east. In the middle distance 
 gleamed the Cherokee, flowing toward the south through its 
 valley of rocks, canyons, cliffs, draws and timber. 
 
 "There's th' hut," said Ned, pointing to a small gray blot 
 against the dead black of a towering cliff. "Th' spring's just 
 south of it. Bucket Hill, up north there, is th' north bound- 
 ary; Twin Spires, south yonder is th' other end; an' th' Chero- 
 kee will stop you on th' east side. You ride in every Sat'day 
 if you wants. Don't get lonesome," he grinned and, wheeling 
 abruptly, went back the way they had come. 
 
 Hopalong shook his head in disgust. To be sidetracked like 
 this was maddening. It had taken three hours of hard traveling 
 over rough country to get where he was and it would take 
 as long to return; and all for nothing! He regarded the pack 
 animal with a grin, shrugged his shoulders and led the way 
 toward the hut, the pack horse following obediently. It was 
 another hour before he finally reached the little cabin, for the 
 way was strange and rough. During this time he had talked 
 aloud, for he had the tricks of his kind and when alone he 
 talked to himself. When he reached the hut he relieved the 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME 187 
 
 pack horse o£ its load, carrying the stuff inside. Closing the 
 door and blocking it with a rock he found the spring, drank 
 his fill and then let the horses do hkewise. Then he mounted 
 and started back over the rough trail, thinking out loud and 
 confiding to his horse and he entered a narrow defile close to 
 the top of the divide, promising dire things to the foreman. 
 Suddenly a rope settled over him, pinned his arms to his 
 sides and yanked him from the saddle before he had time to 
 think. He landed on his head and was dazed as he sat up 
 and looked around. The foreman's rifle confronted him, and be- 
 hind the foreman's feet were his two Colts. 
 
 "You talks too much," sneered the man with the drop. "I 
 suspicioned you th' minute I laid eyes on you. It'll take a better 
 man than you to get that five hundred reward. I reckon th' 
 Sheriff was too scared to come hisself." 
 
 Hopalong shook his head as if to clear it. What was the 
 man talking about? Who was the sheriff? He gave it up; but 
 would not betray his ignorance. Yes; he had talked too much. 
 He felt of his head and was mildly surprised to see his hand 
 covered with blood when he glanced at it. "Five hundred's a 
 lot of money," he muttered. 
 
 "Blood money!" snapped the foreman. "You had a gall tryin' 
 to get me. Why, I been lookin' for somebody to try it for two 
 years. An' I was ready every minute of all that time." 
 
 Slowly it came to Hopalong and with it the realization of 
 how foolish it would be to deny the part ascribed to himself. 
 The rope was loose and his arms were practically free; the 
 foreman had dropped the lariat and was depending upon his 
 gun. The captive felt of his head again and, putting his hands 
 behind him for assistance in getting up, arose slowly to his feet. 
 In one of the hands was a small rock that it had rested upon 
 during the effort of rising. At the movement the foreman 
 
THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 watched him closely and ordered him not to take a step if he 
 wanted to live a little longer. 
 
 "I reckon I'll have to shoot you," he announced. "I dassn't 
 let you loose to foller me all over th' country. Anyhow, I'd have 
 to do it sooner or later. I wish you was Phelps, cuss him; but 
 he's a wise sheriff. Better stand up agin' that wall. I gotto do 
 it; an' you deserve it, you Judas!" 
 
 "Meanin' yo're Christ?" sneered Hopalong. "Did you kill 
 th' odier feller like that.? If I'd 'a' knowed that I'd 'a' slapped 
 yore dawg's face at th' bunkhouse an' made you take an even 
 break. Shore you got nerve enough to shoot straight if I looks 
 at you while yo're aimin'.''" He laughed cynically. "I don't want 
 to close my eyes." 
 
 The foreman's face went white and he half lowered the rifle 
 as he took a step forward. Hopalong leaped sideways and his 
 arm straightened out, the other staggering under the blow of 
 the missile. Leaping forward Hopalong ran into a cloud of 
 smoke and staggered as he jumped to close quarters. His hand 
 smashed full in the foreman's face and his knee sank in the 
 foreman's groin. They went down, the foreman weak from the 
 kick and Hopalong sick and weak from the bullet that had 
 grazed the bone of his bad thigh. And lying on the ground 
 they fought in a daze, each incapable of inflicting serious in- 
 jury for awhile. But the foreman grew stronger as his enemy 
 grew weaker from loss of blood and, wriggling from under his 
 furious antagonist, he reached for his Colt. Hopalong threw 
 himself forward and gripped the gun wrist between his teeth 
 and closed his jaws until they ached. But the foreman, pound- 
 ing ceaselessly on the other's face with his free hand, made the 
 jaws relax and drew the weapon. Then he saw all the stars 
 in the heavens as Hopalong's head crashed full against his jaw 
 and before he could recover the gun was pinned under his 
 enemy's knee. Hopalong's head crashed again against the fore- 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME 189 
 
 man's jaw and his right hand gripped the corded throat while 
 the left, its thumb inside the foreman's cheek and its fingers be- 
 hind an ear, tugged and strained at the distorted face. Growling 
 like wild beasts they strained and panted, and then, suddenly, 
 Hopalong's grip relaxed and he made one last, desperate effort 
 to bring his strength back into one furious attack; but in vain. 
 The battered foreman, quick to sense the situation, wrestled his 
 adversary to one side long enough to grab the Colt from under 
 the shifting knee. As he clutched it a shot rang out and the 
 weapon dropped from his nerveless hand before he could pull 
 the trigger. An exulting, savage yell roared in his ears and in 
 the next instant he seemed to leave the ground and soar through 
 space. He dropped ten feet away and lay dazed and helpless as 
 a knee crashed against his chest. Sammy Porter, his face work- 
 ing curiously with relief and rage, rolled him against the wall 
 of the defile and struck him over the head with a rifle butt, 
 first disarming him. 
 
 Hopalong opened his eyes and looked around, dazed and 
 sick. The foreman, bound hand and foot by a forty-five foot 
 lariat, lay close to the base of the wall and stared sullenly at 
 the sky, Sammy was coming up the trail with a dripping som- 
 brero held carefully in his hands and was growling and talking 
 it all over. Hopalong looked down at his thigh and saw a heavy, 
 blood-splotched bandage fastened clumsily in place. Glancing 
 at Sammy again he idly noted that part of the youth's blue- 
 flannel shirt was missing. Curiously, it matched the bandage. 
 He closed his eyes and tried to think what it was all about. 
 
 Sammy ambled up to him, threw some water in the bruised 
 face and then grinned cheerfully at the language he evoked. 
 Producing a flask and holding it up to the light, Sammy slid 
 his thumb to a certain level and then shoved the bottle against 
 his friend's teeth. "Huh!" he chuckled, yanking the bottle away. 
 
190 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 You'll be all right in a couple of days. But you shore are one 
 heck of a sight — it's a toss-up between you an' Atkins." 
 
 It was night. Hopalong stirred and arose on one elbow and 
 noticed that he was lying on a blanket that covered a generous 
 depth of leaves and pine boughs. The sap-filled firewood crackled 
 and popped and hissed and whistled under the licking attack 
 of the greedy flames, which flared up and died down in endless 
 alternation, and ^Jwhich grotesquely revealed to Hopalong's 
 throbbing eyes a bound figure lying on another blanket. That, 
 he decided, was the foreman. Letting his gaze wander around 
 the lighted circle he made out a figure squatting on the other 
 side of the fire, and concluded it was Sammy Porter. "What you 
 doin'. Kid?" he asked. 
 
 Sammy arose and walked over to him. "Oh, just watchin' 
 a fool puncher an' five hundred dollars," he grinned. "How you 
 feelin' now, you ol' sage hen?" 
 
 "Good," replied the invalid, and, comparatively, it was the 
 truth. "Fine an' strong," he added, which was not the truth. 
 
 "That's the way to talk," cheered the Cub. "You shore had 
 one fine seance. You earned that five hundred, all right." 
 
 Hopalong reflected and then looked across at the prisoner. 
 "He can fight like the devil," he muttered. "Why, I kicked him 
 hard enough to kill anybody else." He turned again and looked 
 Sammy in the eyes, smiling as best he could. "There ain't no 
 five hundred for me, Kid. I didn't come for that, didn't know 
 nothin' about it. An' it's blood money, besides. We'll turn him 
 loose if he'll get out of the country, hey? We'll give him a 
 chance; either that or you take th' reward." 
 
 Sammy stared, grunted and stared again. "What you ravin' 
 about?" he demanded. "An' you didn't come after him for that 
 money?" he asked, sarcastically. 
 
SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME I9I 
 
 Hopalong nodded and smiled again. "That's right, Kid," he 
 answered, thoughtfully, "I come down to make him get out of 
 th' country. You let him go after we get out of this. I reckon 
 I got yore share of the reward right here in my pocket; purty 
 near that much, anyhow. You take it an' let him vamoose. What 
 you say.?" 
 
 Sammy rose, angry and disgusted. His anger spoke first. "You 
 go to blazes with yore money! I don't want it!" Then, slowly 
 and wonderingly spoke his disgust. "He's yourn; do what you 
 want. But I here remarks, frank an' candid, open an' so all may 
 hear, that yo're a large, puzzlin' blamed fool. Now lay back on 
 that blanket an' go to sleep afore I changes my mind!" 
 
 Sammy drifted past the prisoner and looked down at him. 
 "Hear that.?" he demanded. There was no answer and he 
 grunted. "Huh! You heard it, all right; an* it plumb stunned 
 you." Passing on he grabbed the last blanket in sight, it was 
 on the foreman's horse, and rolled up in it, feet to the fire. His 
 gun he placed under the saddle he had leaned against, which 
 now made his pillow. As he squirmed into the most comfortable 
 position he could find under the circumstances he raised his 
 head and glanced across at his friend. "Huh!" he growled softly. 
 "That's th' worst of them sentimental fellers. That gal shore 
 wrapped him 'round her H'l finger all right. Oh, well," he sighed. 
 "Tain't none of my doin's, thank the Lord; I got sense!" And 
 with the satisfaction of this thought still warm upon him he 
 dosed his eyes and went to sleep, confident that the slightest 
 sound would awaken him; and fully justified in his confidence. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 His Code 
 
 Mr. "youbet" somes, erstwhile foreman of the Two-X-Two 
 Ranch, in Arizona, and now out of a job, rode gloomily toward 
 Kit, a town between him and his destination. 
 
 Needless to say, he was a cowman through and through. More 
 than that, he was so saturated with cowmen's traditions as to 
 resent pugnaciously anything which flouted them. 
 
 He was of the old school, and would not submit quietly to 
 two things, among others, which an old-school cowman hated — 
 wire fences and sheep. To this he owed his present ride, for he 
 hated wire fences cordially. They meant the passing of the free, 
 open range, of straight trails across country; they meant a great 
 change, an intolerable condition. 
 
 "Yessir, bronch! Things are gettin' damnabler every year, with 
 th' railroads, tourists, nesters, barb' wire, an' sheep. Last year, it 
 was a windmill, that screeched till our hair riz up. It wouldn't 
 work when we wanted it to, an' we couldn't stop it when it once 
 got started. 
 
 "It gave us no sleep, no peace; an' it killed Bob Cousins — 
 swung round with th' wind an' knocked him off'n th' platform, 
 sixty feet, to th' ground. Bob alius did like to monkey with th' 
 buzz saw. I shore told him not to go up there, because th' cussed 
 thing was loaded; but, bein' mule-headed, he knowed more'n me. 
 
 "But this year! Lord — ^but that was an awful pile of wire, 
 bronch! Three strands high, an' over a hundred an' fifty miles 
 round that pasture. That was a' insult, bronch; an' I never swal- 
 ler 'em. That's what put me an' you out here, in th* middle of 
 
 192 
 
HIS CODE 193 
 
 nowhere, tryin' to find a way out. G'wan, now! You ain't goin' 
 to rest till I gets ofiE you. G'wan, I told you!" 
 
 Mr, Somes was riding east, bound for the Bar-20, where he 
 had friends. For a year or two, he had heard persistent rumors 
 to the effect that Buck Peters had more cows than he knew what 
 to do with; and he argued rightly that the Bar-20 foreman could 
 find a place for an old friend, whose ability was unquestioned. 
 Of one thing he was certain — there were no wire fences, down 
 there. 
 
 It was dusk when he dismounted in front of Logan's, in Kit, 
 and went inside. The bartender glanced up, reaching for a bottle 
 on the shelf beside him. 
 
 Youbet nodded. "You got it first pop. Have one with me. I'm 
 countin' on staying over in town tonight. Got a place for me?" 
 
 "Shore have — upstairs in th' attic. Want grub, too?" 
 
 "Well, I sorter hope to have somethin' to eat afore I pull out. 
 Here's how!" And when Mr. Somes placed his empty glass on 
 the bar, he smiled good-naturedly. "That's good stuff. Much 
 goin' on in town?" 
 
 "Reckon you can get a game most anywhere.'* 
 
 "Where do I get that grub? Here?" 
 
 "No— down th' street. Ridin' far?" 
 
 "Yes — a little. Goin' down to th' Bar-20 for a job punchin'. I 
 hear Peters has got more cows than he can handle. Know any- 
 body down there you wants to send any word to?" 
 
 "I'll be hanged if I know," laughed the bartender. "I know a 
 lot of fellers, but they shift so I can't keep track of 'em, nohow." 
 
 A man in a far corner pushed back his chair, and approached 
 the bar, scowling as he glanced at Youbet. "Gimme another," 
 he ordered. 
 
 "Why, hullo, stranger!" exclaimed Youbet. I didn't see you 
 before. Have one with me." 
 
194 '^'^^ COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 The other looked him squarely in the eyes. "Ex-cuse me, stran- 
 ger — I'm a sheepman, an' I don't drink with cowmen." 
 
 "Well, ex-cuse me!" retorted Youbet, like a flash. "If I'd 'a' 
 knowed you was a sheepman, I wouldn't 'a' asked you!" 
 
 The sheepman drank his liquor and, returning to his corner, 
 placed his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, ap- 
 parently paying no further attention to the others. 
 
 "If I can't get a job with Peters, I can try th' C-8o or Double 
 Arrow," continued Youbet, as he toyed with his glass. "If I can't 
 get on with one of them, I reckons Waffles, of th' O-Bar-O, will 
 find a place for me, thought I don't like that country a whole 
 lot." 
 
 The bartender hesitated for a moment. "Do you know 
 Waffles?" he asked. 
 
 "Shore — know 'em all. Why? Do you know him, too?" 
 
 "No; but I've heard of him." 
 
 "That so? He's a good feller, he is. I've punched with both 
 him an' Peters." 
 
 "I heard he wasn't," replied the bartender, slowly but care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Then you heard wrong, all right," rejoined Youbet. "He's 
 one of us old fellers — abates sheep, barb wire, an' nesters as bad 
 as I do; an' sonny," he continued, warming as he went on. "Th' 
 cow country ain't what it used to be — not no way. I can re- 
 member when there warn't no wire, no nesters, an' no sheep. 
 An' between you and me, I don't know which is th' worst. Every 
 time I runs up agin' one of 'em, I says it's th' worst; but I guess 
 it's just about a even break." 
 
 "I heard about yore friend Waffles through sheep," replied 
 the bartender. "He chased a sheep outfit out of a hill range near 
 his ranch, an' killed a couple of 'em, a-doin' it." 
 
 "Served 'em right — served 'em right," responded Youbet, turn- 
 
HIS CODE 195 
 
 ing and walking toward the door. "They ain't got no business 
 on a cattle range — not nohow." 
 
 The man in the corner started to follow, half raising his hand, 
 as though to emphasize something he was about to say; but 
 changed his mind, and sullenly resumed his brooding attitude. 
 
 "Reckon I'll put my cayuse in yore corral, an' look th' town 
 over," Youbet remarked, over his shoulder. "Remember, yo're 
 savin' a bed for me." 
 
 As he stepped to the street, the man in the corner lazily arose 
 and looked out of the window, swearing softly while he watched 
 the man who hated sheep. 
 
 "Well, there's another friend of yore business," laughed the 
 bartender, leaning back to enjoy the other's discomfiture. "He 
 don't like 'em, neither." 
 
 "He's a fool of a mossback, so far behind th' times he don't 
 know who's President," retorted the other, still staring down 
 the street. 
 
 "Well, he don't know that this has got to be a purty fair sheep 
 town — that's shore." 
 
 "He'll find out, if he makes many more talks like that — an' 
 that ain't no dream, neither!" snapped the sheepman. He 
 wheeled, and frowned at the man behind the bar. "You see what 
 he gets, if he opens his cow mouth in here tonight. Th' boys 
 hate this kind real fervent; an' when they finds out that he's a 
 side pardner of that coyote WafHes, they won't need much ex- 
 cuse. You wait — that's all!" 
 
 "Oh, what's th' use of gettin' all riled up about it?" demanded 
 the bartender easily. "He didn't know you was a sheepman, 
 when he made his first break. An' lemme tell you somethin' 
 you want to remember — them old-time cowmen can use a short 
 gun somethin' sUck. They've got 'em trained. Bet he can work 
 th' double roll without shootin' hisself full of lead." The speaker 
 grinned exasperatingly. 
 
196 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Yes!" exploded the sheepman, who had tried to roll two guns 
 at once, and had spent ten days in bed as a result o£ it. 
 
 The bartender laughed softly as he recalled the incident. "Have 
 you tried it since?" he inquired. 
 
 "Go to th' devil!" grinned the other, heading for the door. 
 "But he'll get in trouble, if he spouts about hatin' sheep, when th' 
 boys come in. You better get him drunk an' lock him in th' attic, 
 before then." 
 
 "G'wan! I ain't playin' guardian to nobody," rejoined the bar- 
 tender. "But remember what I said — ^them old fellers can use 
 'em slick an' rapid." 
 
 The sheepman went out as Youbet returned; and the latter 
 seated himself, crossing his legs and drawing out his pipe. 
 
 The bartender perfunctorily drew a cloth across the bar, and 
 smiled. "So you don't like wire, sheep, or nesters," he remarked. 
 
 Mr. Somes looked up, in surprise, forgetting that he held a 
 lighted match between thumb and finger. "Like 'em! Huh, I 
 reckon not. I'm lookin' for a job because of wire. Why!" he 
 exclaimed, dropping the match, and rubbing his finger. "That's 
 twice I did that fool thing in a week," he remarked, in apology 
 and self-condemnation, and struck another match. 
 
 "I was foreman of my ranch for nigh onto ten years. It was a 
 good ranch, an' I was satisfied till last year, when they made me 
 put up a windmill that didn't mill, but screeched awful. I stood 
 for that because I could get away from it in th' daytime. 
 
 "But this year! One day, not very long ago, I got a letter from 
 th' owners, an' it says for me to build a wire fence around our 
 range. It went on to say that there was two carloads of barb' 
 wire at Mesquite. We was to tote that wire home, an' start in. 
 If two carloads wasn't enough, they'd send us more. We had 
 one busted-down grub waggin, an' Mesquite shore was fifty 
 miles away — which meant a whoppin' long job totin'. 
 
 "When I saw th' boys, that night, I told 'em that I'd got orders 
 
HIS CODE 197 
 
 to raise their pay five dollars a month — which made 'em cheer. 
 Then I told 'em that was so providin' they helped me build a 
 barb' wire fence around th' range — which didn't make 'em cheer. 
 
 "Th' boundary lines of th' range we was usin' was close onto 
 a hundred an' fifty miles long, an' three strands of wire along a 
 trail like that is some job. We was to put th' posts twelve feet 
 apart, an' they was to be five feet outen th' ground an' four feet 
 in it — which makes 'em nine feet over all. 
 
 "There wasn't no posts at Mesquite. Them posts was supposed 
 to be growin' f reelike on th' range, just waitin' for us to cut 'em, 
 skin 'em, tote an' drop 'em every twelve feet along a line a hun- 
 dred an* fifty miles long. An' then there was to be a hole dug 
 for every post, an' tampin', staplin', an' stringin' that hell-wire. 
 An' don't forget that lone, busted-down grub waggin that was 
 to do that totin'! 
 
 "There was some excitement on th' Two-X-Two that night, 
 an' a lot of figgerin'; us bein' some curious about how many 
 posts was needed, an' how many holes we was to dig to fit th' 
 aforesaid posts. We made it sixty-six thousand. Think of it! An' 
 only eight of us to tackle a job like that, an' ride range at th' 
 same time!" 
 
 "Oh, ho!" roared the bartender, hugging himself, and trying 
 to carry a drink to the narrator at the same time. "Go on! That's 
 good!" 
 
 "Is, is it?" snorted Youbet. "Huh! You wouldn't 'a' thought 
 so, if you was one of us eight. Well, I set right down an' writ 
 a long letter — took six cents' worth of stamps — an' gave our 
 views regardin' wire fences in general an' this one of ourn in 
 particular. I hated fences, an' do yet; an' so'd my boys hate 'em, 
 an' they do yet. 
 
 "In due time, I got a answer, which come for two cents. It 
 says: 'Build that fence.' 
 
 "I sent Charley over to Mesquite to look over them cars of 
 
ipS THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 wire. He saw 'em, both of 'em. An' th' agent saw him. 
 
 "Th' agent was a' important man, an' he grabs Charley quick. 
 'Hey, you Two-X-Two puncher — you get that wire home quick. 
 It went past here three times before they switched it, an' I've 
 been gettin' blazes from th' company ever since. We need th' 
 cars.' 
 
 " 'Don't belong to me,' says Charley. 'I shore don't want it. 
 I'm eatin' beans an' bacon instead.' 
 
 "'You send for that wire!' yells th' agent, wild-Uke. 
 
 "Charley winks. 'Can't you keep it passin' this station till it 
 snows hard? Have a drink.' 
 
 "Well, th' agent wouldn't drink, an' he wouldn't send that 
 pore wire out into a cold world no more; an' so Charley comes 
 home an' reports, him lookin' wanlike. When he told us, he 
 looked sort of funny, an' blurts out that his mother went an' died 
 up in Laramie, an' he must shore 'nufi rustle up there an' bury 
 her. He went. 
 
 "Then Fred Ball begun to have pains in his stomach, an' said 
 it was appendix somethin', what he had been readin' about in 
 th' papers. He had to go to Denver, an' get a good doctor, or 
 he'd shore die. He went. 
 
 "Carson had to go to Santa Fe to keep some of his numerous 
 city lots from bein' sold off by th' sheriff. He went. 
 
 "Th' rest, bein' handicapped by th' good start th' others had 
 made in corrallin' all the excuses, said they'd go for th' wire. 
 They went. 
 
 "I waited four days, an' then I went after 'em. When I got to 
 th' station, I sees th' agent out sizin' up our wire; an' when I 
 hails, he jumps my way quick, an' grabs my laig tight. 
 
 "'You take that wire home!' he yells. 
 
 " 'Shore,' says I soothingly. 'You looks mad,' I adds. 
 
 "'Mad! Mad!' he shouts, hoppin' around, but hangin' onto 
 my laig like grim death. 'Mad! I'm goin' loco — crazy! I can't 
 
HIS CODE 199 
 
 sleep! There's twenty letters an' messages on my table, tellin' 
 me to get that wire oflF'n th' cars an' send th' empties back on th' 
 next freight! You've got to take it — got to!'" 
 
 The bartender shocked his nervous system by drinking plain 
 water by mistake, but he listened eagerly. "Yes? What then?" 
 
 "Well, then I asks him where I can find my men, an' team, 
 an' waggin'. He tells me. Th' team an' waggin is in a corral 
 down th' street, but he don't know where th' men are. They 
 held a gun to his head, an' said they'd kill him i£ he didn't flag 
 th' next train for 'em. Th' next train was a through express, 
 carryin' mail. He wasn't dead. 
 
 "He showed me ten more letters an' messages, regardin' th* 
 flaggin' of a contract-mail train for four fares; an' some of them 
 letters must 'a' been written by a old-time cowman, they was 
 that eloquent an' God-fearin'. Then I went. 
 
 "Why, Charley was twenty years old; an' we figgered that, 
 when th' last staple was drove in th' last post, he'd 'a' been dead 
 ten years! Where did I come in, the — ?" 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" sighed the bartender, holding his sides, and trying 
 to straighten his face so that he could talk out of the middle of 
 it. "That's th' best ever! Have another drink!" 
 
 "I ain't tellin' my troubles for liquor," snorted Youbet. "You 
 have one with me. Here comes some customers down th* street, 
 I reckon." 
 
 "Say!" exclaimed the bartender hurriedly. "You keep mum 
 about sheep. This is a red-hot sheep town, an' it hates Waffles an' 
 all his friends. Hullo, boys!" he called to four men, who filed 
 into the room. "Where's th' rest of you?" 
 
 "Comin' in later. Same thing, Jimmy," replied Clayton, chief 
 herder. "An' give us th' cards." 
 
 "Have you seen Price?" asked Towne. 
 
 "Yes; he was in here a few minutes ago. What'd you say. 
 
200 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 Schultz?" the bartender asked, turning to the man who pulled 
 at his sleeve. 
 
 "I said dot you vas nod right aboud vat you said de odder day, 
 Chust now I ask Glayton, und he said you vas nod." 
 
 "All right, Dutchy— all right!" laughed the bartender. "Then 
 it's on me this time, ain't it?" 
 
 Youbet walked to the bar. "Say, where do I get that grub? 
 It's about time for me to mosey off an' feed." 
 
 "Next building — and you'll take mutton if yo're wise," replied 
 the bartender, in a low voice. "Th' hash is awful, an' the beef 
 is tough," he added, a little louder. 
 
 "Mutton be damned!" snorted Youbet, stamping out. "I eat 
 what I punch!" And his growls became lost in the street. 
 
 Schultz glanced up. "Yah! Und he shoot vat / eat, tam him, 
 ven he gan!" 
 
 "Oh, put yore ante in, an' don't talk so much!" rejoined 
 Towne. "He ain't going to shoot you'' 
 
 "It'll cost you two bits to come in," remarked Clayton. 
 
 "An' two more," added Towne, raising the ante. 
 
 "Goot! I blay mit you. But binochle iss der game!" 
 
 "I'll tell you a good story about a barb' wire fence tomorrow, 
 fellers," promised the bartender, grinning. 
 
 The poker game had been going for some time before further 
 remarks were made about the cowman who had left, and then 
 it was Clayton who spoke. 
 
 "Say, Jimmy!" he remarked, as Schultz dealt. "Who is yore 
 leather-pants friend who don't like mutton?" 
 
 The bartender lifted a bottle, and replaced it with great care. 
 "Oh, just a ranch foreman, out of a job. He's a funny old feller." 
 
 "So? An' what's so funny about him? Get in there, Towne, 
 if you wants to do any playin' with us." 
 
 "Why, he was ordered to build a hundred an' fifty miles of 
 
HIS CODE 201 
 
 wire fence around his range, an' he jumped ruther than do it." 
 
 "Yas — an' most of it government land, I reckon," interposed 
 Towne. 
 
 "Pshaw! It's an' old game with them," laughed Clayton. "Th' 
 law don't get to them; an' if they've got a good outfit, nobody 
 has got any chance agin 'em." 
 
 "Py Gott, dot's right!" grunted Schultz. 
 
 "Shore, it is," responded Towne, forgetting the game. "Take 
 that Apache Hills run-in. Waffles didn't have no more right to 
 that range than anybody else, but that didn't make no difference. 
 He threw a couple of outfits in there, penned us in th' cabin, 
 killed McKay, an' shot th' rest of us up plenty. Then he threat- 
 ened to slaughter our herd if we didn't pull out. By God, I'd 
 like to get a cowman like him up here, where th' tables are 
 turned around on th' friends proposition." 
 
 "Hullo, boys!" remarked the bartender to the pair who came 
 in. 
 
 "Just in time. Get chairs, an' take hands," invited Clayton, 
 moving over. 
 
 "Who's th' cowman yo're talkin' about?" asked Baxter, as he 
 leaned lazily against the bar. 
 
 "Oh, all of 'em," rejoined Towne surlily. "There's one in town, 
 now, who don't like sheep." 
 
 "That so?" queried Baxter slowly. "I reckon he better keep 
 his mouth shut, then." 
 
 "Oh, he's all right! He's a jolly old geezer," assured the bar- 
 tender. "He just talks to hear hisself — one of them old-timers 
 what can't get right to th' way things has changed on th' range. 
 It was them boys that did great work when th' range was wild." 
 
 "Yes, an' it's them bull-headed old fools what are raisin' all th' 
 hell with th' sheep," retorted Towne, frowning darkly as he re- 
 membered some of the indignities he had borne at the hands of 
 cowmen. 
 
202 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "I wish his name was Waffles," Clayton smiled significantly. 
 
 "Rainin' again," remarked a man in the doorway, stamping 
 in. "Reckon it ain't never goin' to stop." 
 
 "Where you been so long, Price?" asked Clayton, as a saluta- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh, just shiftin' about. That cow wrastler raised th' devil in 
 th' hotel," Price replied. "Old fool! They brought him mutton, 
 an' he wanted to clean out th' place. Said he'd as soon eat barb' 
 wire. They're feedin' him hash an' canned stufi, now." 
 
 "He'll get hurt, i£ he don't look out," remarked Clayton. "Who 
 is he anyhow. Price?" 
 
 "Don't know his name; but he's from Arizona, on his way 
 to th' Pecos country. Says he's a friend of Buck Peters an' 
 Waffles. To use one of his own expressions, he's a old mosshead." 
 
 "Friend of Waffles, hey?" exclaimed Towne. 
 
 "Yumpin' Yimminy!" cried Oleson, in the same breath. 
 
 "Well, if he knows when he's well off, he'll stay away from 
 here, an' keep his mouth closed," said Clayton. 
 
 "Aw, let him alone! He's one agin' th' whole town — an' a 
 good old feller, at that," hastily assured the bartender. "It ain't 
 his fault that Waffles buffaloed you fellers out of th' Hills, is it.? 
 He's goin' on early tomorrow; so let him be." 
 
 "You'll get yoreself in trouble, Jimmy, m' boy, if you inserts 
 yoreself in this," warned Towne. "It was us agin' a whole section, 
 an' we got ours. Let him take his, if he talks too much." 
 
 "Shore," replied Price. "I heard him shoot off his mouth, an 
 hour ago, an' he's got altogether too much to say. You mind 
 th' bar an' yore own business, Jimmy. We ain't kids." 
 
 "Go you two bits better," said Clayton, shoving out a coin. 
 "Gimme some cards, Towne. It'll cost you a dollar to see our 
 raises." 
 
 Baxter walked over to watch the play. "I'm comin' in next 
 game. Who's winnin', now?" 
 
HIS CODE 203 
 
 "Reckon I am; but we ain't much more'n got started," Clayton 
 replied. "Did you call, Towne? Why, I've got three little tens. 
 You got any thin' better?" 
 
 "Never savsr such luck!" exclaimed Tovi^ne disgustedly. 
 "Dutchy, yo're a Jonah." 
 
 "Damn th' mutton, says I. It was even in that hash!" growled 
 a voice, just outside the door. 
 
 A moment later, Youbet Somes entered, swinging his sombrero 
 energetically to shake off the water. 
 
 "Cuss th' rain, too, an' this wart of a town. A man can't 
 get nothin' fit to eat for love or money, on a sheep range. Gimme 
 a drink, sonny! Mebby it'll cut th' taste of that rank tallow out'n 
 my mouth. Th' reason there is sheep on this earth of our'n is that 
 th' devil chased 'em out'n his place — an' no blame to him." 
 
 He drank half his liquor, and, placing the glass on the bar 
 beside him, turned to watch the game. "Ah, strangers — that's 
 th' only game, after all. I've dabbled in 'em all from faro to 
 roulette, but that's th' boss of 'em all." 
 
 "See you an' call," remarked Clayton, ignoring the newcomer. 
 "What you got, you Dutch pagan?" 
 
 "Tjwei Kaisers und a bair of chackasses, mit a deuce." 
 
 "Kings up!" exclaimed Clayton. "Why, say — you bet th' worst 
 of anybody I ever knew! You'll balk on bettin' two bits on 
 threes, and plunge on a bluff. I reckoned you didn't have nothin'. 
 Why ain't you more consistent?" he asked, winking at Towne. 
 
 "Gonsisdency iss no chewel in dis game — it means go broke," 
 placidly grunted Schultz, raking in his winnings. 
 His friend Schneider smiled. 
 
 "Coyotes are gettin' too numerous, this year," Baxter remarked, 
 shuffling. 
 
 Youbet pushed his sombrero back on his head. "They don't 
 get numerous on a cow range," he said significantly. 
 
204 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Huh!" snorted Baxter. "They've got too much respect to 
 stay on one longer than they've got to." 
 
 "They'd ruther be with their wooly-coated cousins," rejoined 
 the cowman quietly. It was beneath his dignity as a cowman 
 to pay much attention to what sheepmen said, yet he could not 
 remain silent under such a remark. 
 
 He regarded sheep herders, those human beings who walked 
 at their work, as men who had reached the lowest rung in the 
 ladder of human endeavors. His belief was not original with 
 him, but was that of many of his school. He was a horseman, 
 a mounted man, and one of the aristocracy of the range; they 
 were, to him, the rabble, and almost beneath his contempt. 
 
 Besides, it was commonly believed by cowmen that sheep 
 destroyed the grass as far as cattle grazing was concerned — and 
 this was the chief reason for the animosity against sheep and 
 their herders, which burned so strongly in the hearts of cattle 
 owners and their outfits. 
 
 Youbet drained his glass, and continued: "The coyote leaves 
 th' cattle range for th' same good reason yore sheep leave it — 
 because they are chased out, or killed. Naturally, blood kin will 
 hang together in banishment." 
 
 "You know a whole lot, don't you?" snorted Clayton, with 
 sarcasm. "Yo're shore wise, you are!" 
 
 "He is so vise as a — a gow," remarked Schultz, grinning. 
 
 "You'll know more, when you get as old as me," replied the 
 ex-foreman, carefully placing the empty glass on the bar. 
 
 "I don't want to get as old as you, if I have to lose all my com- 
 mon sense," retorted Clayton angrily. 
 
 "An' be a damned nuisance generally," observed Towne. 
 
 "I've seen a lot of things in my life," Youbet began, trying to 
 ignore the tones of the others. They were young men, and he 
 knew that youth grew unduly heated in argument. "I saw th' 
 comin' of th' Texas drive herds, till th' range was crowded where 
 
HIS CODE 205 
 
 th' year before there was nothin'. I saw th' comin' of th' sheep — 
 an' barb' wire, I'm sorry to say. Th' sheep came like locusts, 
 leavin' a dyin' range behind 'em. Thin, half-starved cattle showed 
 which way they went. You can't tell me nothin' I don't know 
 about sheep." 
 
 "An' Z've seen sheep dyin' in piles on th' open range," cried 
 Clayton, his own wrongs lashing him into a rage, /'ve seen 'em 
 dynamited, an' drowned and driven Hckety-split over canyons! 
 I've had my men taunted, an' chased, an' killed — filled, by God! 
 — just because they tried to make a' honest livin'! Who did it 
 all? Who killed my men an' my sheep? Who did it?" he 
 shouted, taking a short step forward, while an endorsing growl 
 ran along the line of sheepmen at his side. 
 
 "Cowpunchers — they did it! They killed 'em — an* why? Be- 
 cause we tried to use th' grass that we had as much right to as 
 they had — that's why!" 
 
 "Th' cows was here first," replied Youbet, keenly alert, but 
 not one whit abashed by the odds, long as they were. "It was 
 theirs because they was there first." 
 
 "It was not theirs, no more'n th' sun was!" cried Towne, 
 unable to allow his chief to do all the talking. 
 
 "You said you knowed Waffles," continued Clayton loudly. 
 "Well, he's another of you old-time cowmen! He killed MacKay 
 — murdered him — ^because we was usin' a hill range a day's ride 
 from his own grass! He had twenty men like hisselE to back him 
 up. If we'd been as many as them, they wouldn't 'a' tried it — an' 
 you know it!" 
 
 "I don't know anything of th' kind, but I do know — " began 
 Youbet; but Schultz interrupted him with a remark intended 
 to contain humor. 
 
 "Ven you say you doand know anyt'ing, you know somedings; 
 ven you know dot you doand know noddings, den you know 
 somedings. Und das iss so — ^yah." 
 
206 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Who th' devil told you to stick yore Dutch mouth — " re- 
 torted Youbet; but Clayton cut him short. 
 
 "So yo're a old-timer, hey?" cried the sheepman. "Well, by 
 God, yore old-time friend Waffles is a coward, a murderer, 
 an'—" 
 
 "Yo're a liar!" rang out the vibrant voice of the cow^man, his 
 gun out and leveled in a flash. The seven had moved forward 
 as one man, actuated by the same impulse; and their hands were 
 moving toward their guns when the crashes of Youbet's weapon 
 reverberated in the small room, the acrid smoke swirHng around 
 him as though to shield him from the result of his folly — a re- 
 sult which he had weighed and then ignored. 
 
 Clayton dropped, with his mouth still open. Towne's gun 
 chocked back in the scabbard as its owner stumbled blindly over 
 a chair and went down, never to rise. Schultz fired once, and 
 fell back across the table. 
 
 The three shots had followed one another with incredible 
 quickness; and the seven, not beUeving that one man would 
 dare attack so many, had not expected his play. Before the 
 stunned sheepmen could begin firing, three were dead. 
 
 Price, badly wounded, fired as he plunged to the wall for 
 support; and the other three were now wrapped in their own 
 smoke. 
 
 Wounded in several places, with his gun empty, Youbet hurled 
 the weapon at Price, and missed by so narrow a margin that 
 the sheepman's aim was spoiled. Youbet now sprang to the bar, 
 and tried to vault over it, to get to the gun which he knew 
 always lay on the shelf behind it. As his feet touched the upper 
 edge of the counter, he grunted and, collapsing like a jackknife, 
 loosed his hold, and fell to the floor. 
 
 "Mein Gottl" groaned Schneider, as he tried to raise himself. 
 He looked around in a dazed manner, hardly understanding 
 just what had happened. "He vas mat; crazy mat!" 
 
HIS CODE 207 
 
 Oleson arose unsteadily to his feet, and groped his way along 
 the wall to where Price lay. 
 
 The fallen man looked up, in response to the touch on his 
 shoulder; and he swore feebly: "Curse that fool — that idiot!" 
 
 "Shut up, an' git out!" shouted the bartender, standing rigidly 
 upright, with a heavy Colt in his upraised hand. There were 
 tears in his eyes, and his voice broke from excitement. "He 
 wouldn't swaller yore insults! He knowed he was a better man! 
 Get out of here, every blamed one of you, or I'll begin where he 
 stopped. G'wan — get out!" 
 
 The four looked at him, befuddled and sorely hurt; but they 
 understood the attitude, if they did not quite grasp the words — 
 and they knew that he meant what he looked. Staggering and 
 hobbling, they finally found the door, and plunged out to the 
 street, to meet the crowd of men who were running toward the 
 building. 
 
 Jimmy, choking with anger and with respect for the man who 
 had preferred death to insults, slammed shut the door and, drop- 
 ping the bar into place, turned and gazed at the quiet figure 
 huddled at the base of the counter. 
 
 "Old man," he muttered, "now I understands why th' sheep 
 don't stay long on a cattle range." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Sammy Hunts a Job 
 
 Sammy Porter, detailed by Hopalong, the trail-boss, rode into 
 Truxton three days before the herd was due, to notify the agent 
 that cars were wanted. Three thousand three-year-olds were on 
 their way to the packing houses and must be sent through speed- 
 ily. Sammy saw die agent and, leaving him much less sweeter 
 in temper than when he had found him, rode down the dismal 
 street kicking up a prodigious amount of dust. One other duty 
 demanded attention and its fulfillment was promised by the 
 sign over the faded pine front of the first building. 
 
 "Restaurant," he read aloud. "That's mine. Beans, bacon an* 
 biscuits for 'most a month! But now I'm goin' to forget Blinky 
 Thompkins ever bossed a trail wagon an' tried to cook." 
 
 Dismounting, he glanced in the window and pulled at the 
 downy fuzz trying to make a showing on his upper lip. "Purty, 
 all right. Brown hair an' I reckon brown eyes. Nice li'l girl. 
 Well, they don't make no dents on me no more," he congratu- 
 lated himself, and entered. His twenty years fairly sagged with 
 animosity toward the fairer sex, the intermittent smoke from 
 the ruins of his last love affair still painfully in evidence at times. 
 But careless as he tried to be he could not banish the swaggering 
 mannerisms of Youth in the presence of Maid, or change his 
 habit of speech under such conditions. 
 
 "Well, well," he smiled. "Here I 'are' again. Li'l Sammy in 
 search of his grub. An' if it's as nice as you he'll shore have to 
 flag his outfit an' keep this town all to hisself. Got any chicken?" 
 
 The maid's nose went up and Sammy noticed that it tilted 
 
 208 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 209 
 
 ft trifle, and he cocked his head on one side to see it better. And 
 the eyes were brown, very big and very deep — they possessed 
 a melting quaUty he had never observed before. The maid 
 shrugged her shoulders and swung around, the tip-tilt nose go- 
 ing a bit higher. 
 
 Sammy leaned back against the door and nodded approval 
 of the slender figure in spic-and-span white. "Li'l Sammy is a 
 fer-o-cious cow-punch from a chickenless land," he observed, 
 sorrowfully. "There ain't no kinds of chickens. Nothin' but men 
 an' cattle an' misguided cooks; an' beans, bacon an' biscuits. 
 Li'l Miss, have you a chicken for me?" 
 
 "No!" The head went around again, Sammy bending to one 
 side to see it as long as he could. The pink, shell-like ear that 
 flirted with him through the loosely-gathered, rebellious hair 
 caught his attention and he leveled an accusing finger at it. 
 "Naughty li'l ear, peekin' at Sammy that-a-way! Oh, you stingy 
 girl!" He chided as the back of her head confronted him. "Well, 
 Sammy don't like girls, no matter how pink their ears are, or 
 turned up their noses, or wonderful their eyes. He just wants 
 chicken, an' all th' fixin's. He'll be very humble an' grateful to 
 Li'l Miss if she'll tell him what he can have. An' he'll behave 
 just like a Sunday-school boy. 
 
 "Aw, you don't want to get mad at only me," he continued 
 after she refused to answer. "Got any chicken? Got any — eggs? 
 Lucky Sammy! An' some nice ham? Two lucky Sammies. An' 
 some mashed potatoes? Fried? Good. An' will Li'l Miss please 
 make a brand new cup of strong coffee? Then he'll go over an' 
 sit in that nice chair an' watch an' listen. But you oughtn't get 
 mad at him. Are you really-an'-truly mad?" 
 
 She swept down the room, into the kitchen partitioned off 
 at the farther end and slammed the door. Sammy grinned, 
 tugged at his upper lip and fancy-stepped to the table. He 
 smoothed his tumbled hair, retied his neck-kerchief and dusted 
 
210 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 himself of? with his red bandanna handkerchief. "Nice li'l town," 
 he soHloquized. Fine U'l town. Dunno as I ought to go back to 
 th' herd — Hoppy didn't tell me to. Reckon I'll stick in town an' 
 argue with th' agent. Ir I argue with th' agent I'll be busy; an' 
 I can't leave while I'm busy." He leaned back and chuckled. 
 "Lucky me! If Hoppy had gone an' picked Johnny to argue with 
 th' agent for three whole days where would / be? But I gotta 
 keep Johnny outa here, th' son-of-a-gun. He ain't like me — 
 he liJ{es girls; an' he ain't bashful." 
 
 He picked up a paper lying on a chair near him and looked 
 it over until the kitchen door squeaked. She carried a tray 
 covered with a snow-white napkin which looked like a topo- 
 graphical map with its mountains and valleys and plains. His 
 chuckle was infectious to the extent of a smile and her eyes 
 danced as she placed his dinner before him. 
 
 "Betcha it's fine," he grinned, shoveling sugar into the inky 
 coffee. "Blinky oughta have a good look at this layout." 
 
 "Don't be too sure," she retorted. "Mrs. Olmstead is sick and 
 I'm taking charge of things for her. I'm not a good cook." 
 
 "Nothin's th' matter with this," he assured her between bites. 
 "Lots better'n most purty girls can do. If Hopalong goes up 
 against this he'll offer you a hundred a month an' throw Blinky 
 in to wash th' dishes. But he'd have to 'point me guard, or you 
 wouldn't have no time to do no cookin'." 
 
 "You'd make a fine guard," she retorted. 
 
 "Don't believe it, huh? Jus' wait till you know me better." 
 
 "How do you know I'm going to?" 
 
 "I'm a good guesser. Jus' put a li'l pepper right there on that 
 yalla spot. Say, any chance to get a job in this town?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know." 
 
 "Goin' to stay long?" 
 
 "I can't say. I won't go till Mrs. Olmstead is well." 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 211 
 
 "Not meanin' no harm to Mrs. Olmstead, o£ course — ^but you 
 don't have to go, do you?" 
 
 "I do as I please." 
 
 "So I was thinkin'. Now, 'bout that job: any chance? Any 
 ranches near here?" 
 
 "Several. But they want men. Are you a real cowboy?" 
 
 Sammy folded his hands and shook his head sorrowfully. 
 "Huh! Want men\ Now if I only had whiskers like Blinky. 
 Why, 'course I'm a cowboy. Regular one — but I can outgrow it 
 easy. I'm a sorta maverick an' I'm willin' to wear a nice brand. 
 My name's Sammy Porter," he suggested. 
 
 "That's nice. Mine isn't nice." 
 
 "Easy to change it. Really like mine?" 
 
 "Coffee strong enough?" 
 
 "Sumptions. How long's Mrs. Olmstead going to be sick?" 
 
 Her face clouded. "I don't know. I hope it will not be for long. 
 She's had so much trouble the past year. Oh, wait! I forgot the 
 toast!" and she sped lightly away to rescue the burning bread. 
 
 The front door opened and slammed shut, the newcomer 
 dropping into the nearest chair. He pounded on the table. "Hello, 
 there! I want somethin' to eat, quick!" 
 
 Sammy turned and saw a portly, flashily dressed drummer 
 whose importance was written large all over him. "Hey!" barked 
 the drummer, "gimme something to eat. I can't wait all day!" 
 
 A vicious clang in the kitchen told that his presence was 
 known and resented. 
 
 As Sammy turned from the stranger he caught sight of a 
 pretty flushed face disappearing behind the door jamb, the brown 
 eyes snapping and the red lips straight and compressed. His 
 glance, again traveling to the drummer, began with the dusty 
 patent leathers and went slowly upward, resting boldly on the 
 heavy face. Sammy's expression told nothing and the newcomer, 
 glaring at him for an instant, looked over the menu card and 
 
212 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 then stared at the partition, fidgeting in his chair, thumping 
 meanwhile on the table with his fingers. 
 
 " At a sound from the kitchen Sammy turned back to his table 
 and smiled reassuringly as the toast was placed before him. "1 
 burned it and had to make new," she said, the pink spots in her 
 cheeks a little deeper in color. 
 
 "Why, th' other was good enough for me," he replied. "Know 
 Mrs. Olmstead a long time?" he asked. 
 
 "Ever since I was a little girl. She lived near us in Clev — " 
 
 "Cleveland," he finished. "State of Ohio," he added, laugh- 
 ingly. "I'll get it all before I go." 
 
 "Indeed you won't!" 
 
 "Miss," interrupted the drummer, "if you ain't too busy, would 
 you mind gettin' me a steak an' some cofifee?" The tones were 
 weighted with sarcasm and Sammy writhed in his chair. The 
 girl flushed, turned abruptly and went slowly into the kitchen, 
 from where considerable noise now emanated. In a short time 
 she emerged with the drummer's order, placed it in front of 
 him and started back again. But he stopped her. "I said I wanted 
 it rare an' it's well done. An' also that I wanted fried potatoes. 
 Take it back." 
 
 The girl's eyes blazed: "You gave no instructions," she re- 
 torted. 
 
 "Don't tell me that! I know what I said!" snapped the drum- 
 mer. "I won't eat it an' I won't pay for it. If you wasn't so busy 
 you'd heard what I said." 
 
 Sammy was arising before he saw the tears of vexation in her 
 eyes, but they settled it for him. He placed his hand lightly on 
 her shoulder. "You get me some pie an' take a li'l walk. Me an' 
 this here gent is goin' to hold a palaver. Ain't we, stranger,?" 
 
 The drmnmer glared at him. "We ain't!" he retorted. 
 
 Sammy grinned ingratiatingly. "Oh, my; but we are." He 
 slung a leg over a chair back and leaned forward, resting his 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 213 
 
 elbow on his knee. "Yes, indeed we are — least-a-wise, / am." His 
 tones became very soft and confiding. "An' I'm shore goin to 
 watch you eat that steak." 
 
 "What's that you're going to do?" the drummer demanded, 
 half rising. 
 
 "Sit down," begged Sammy, his gun swinging at his knee. He 
 picked up a toothpick with his left hand and chewed it reflec- 
 tively. "These here Colts make a' awful muss, sometimes," he 
 remarked. " 'Specially at close range. Why," he confided, "I once 
 knowed a man what was shot 'most in two. He was a moss-head 
 an' wouldn't do what he was told. Better sorta lead off at that 
 steak, hombre," he suggested, chewing evenly on the toothpick. 
 Noticing that the girl still lingered, hypnotized by fear and 
 curiosity, he spoke to her over his shoulder. "Won't you please 
 get me that pie, or somethin'? Run out an' borrow a pan, or 
 somethin'," he pleaded. "I don't like to be handicapped when 
 I'm feedin' cattle." 
 
 The drummer's red face paled a little and one hand stole 
 cautiously under his coat — and froze there. Sammy hardly had 
 moved, but the Colt was now horizontal and glowered at the 
 gaudy waistcoat. He was between it and the girl and she did not 
 see the movement. Khs smile was placid and fixed and he spoke 
 so that she should get no inkling of what was going on. "Never 
 drink on an empty stomach," he advised. "After you eat that 
 meal, then you can fuss with yore flask all you wants." He 
 glanced out of the corner of his eye at the girl and nodded. 
 "Still there! Oh, I most forgot, stranger. You take off yore hat 
 an' 'pologize, so she can go. Jus' say yo're a dawg an' never did 
 have no manners. Say it!" he ordered, softly. The drummer 
 gulped and muttered something, but the Colt, still hidden from 
 the girl by its owner's body, moved forward a little and Sammy's 
 throaty growl put an end to the muttering. "Say it plain," he 
 ordered, the color fading from his face and leaving pink spots 
 
214 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 against the white. "That's better — now, Li'l Miss, you get me 
 that pie — please!" he begged. 
 
 When they were alone Sammy let the gun swing at his knee 
 again. "I don't know how they treats wimmin where you come 
 from, stranger; but out here we're plumb polite. 'Course you 
 didn't know that, an' that's why you didn't get all mussed up. 
 Yo're jus' plain ignorant an' can't help yore bringin' up. Now, 
 you eat that steak, pronto!" 
 
 "It's too cold, now," grumbled the drummer, fidgeting in the 
 chair. 
 
 The puncher's left hand moved to the table again and when 
 it returned to his side there was a generous layer of red pepper 
 on the meat. "Easy to fix things when you know how," he 
 grinned. "If it gets any colder I'll fix it some more." His tones 
 became sharper and the words lost their drawled softness. "You 
 goin' to start ag'in that by yoreself, or am I goin' to help you?" 
 he demanded, lifting his leg off the chair and standing erect. 
 All the humor had left his face and there was a grimness about 
 the tight lips and a menace in the squinting eyes that sent a chill 
 rippling down the drummer's spine. He tasted a forkful of the 
 meat and gulped hastily, tears welling into his eyes. The puncher 
 moved a little nearer and watched the frantic gulps with critical 
 attention. " 'Course, you can eat any way you wants — ^yo're payin' 
 for it; but boltin' like a coyote ain't good for th' stummick. How- 
 somever, it's yore grub," he admitted. 
 
 A cup of cold coffee and a pitcher of water followed the meat 
 in the same gulping haste. Tears streamed down the drummer's 
 red face as he arose and turned toward the door. "Hoi' on, 
 stranger!" snapped Sammy. "That costs six bits," he prompted. 
 The coins rang out on the nearest table, the door slammed and 
 the agonized stranger ran madly down the street, cursing at 
 every jump. Sammy sauntered to the door and craned his neck. 
 "Somebody's jus' naturally goin' to bust him wide open one of 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 215 
 
 these days. He ain't got no sense," he muttered, turning back to 
 get his pie. 
 
 A cloud of dust rolled up from the south, causing Briggs a 
 little uneasiness, and he scowled through the door at the long 
 empty siding and the pens sprawled along it. 
 
 Steps clacked across the platform and a grinning cowpuncher 
 stopped at the open window. "They're here," he announced. 
 "How 'bout th' cars?" 
 
 Briggs looked around wearily. For three days his life had been 
 made miserable by this pest, who carried a laugh in his eyes, a 
 sting on his tongue and a chip on his shoulder. "They'll be here 
 soon," he replied, with litde interest. "But there's th' pens." 
 
 "Yes, there's th' pens," smiled Sammy. "They'll hold 'bout 
 one-tenth of that herd. Ain't I been pesterin' you to get them 
 cars?" 
 
 The agent sighed expressively and listened to the instrument 
 on his table. When it ceased he grabbed the key and asked a 
 question. Then he smiled for the first time that day. "They're 
 passing Franklin. Be here in two hours. Now get out of here or 
 I'll Hck you." 
 
 "There's a nice place in one of them pens," smiled Sammy. 
 
 "I see you're eating at Olmstead's," parried the agent. 
 
 "Yea." 
 
 "Nice girl. Come up last summer when Mrs. Olmstead petered 
 out. I ate there last winter." 
 
 Sammy grinned at him. "Why'd you stop?" 
 
 Briggs grew red and glanced at the nearing cloud of dust. 
 "Better help your outfit, hadn't you?" 
 
 Sammy was thoughtful. "Say, that's a plumb favorite eatin' 
 place, ain't it?" 
 
 Briggs laughed. "Wait till Saturday when th' boys come in. 
 
2l6 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 There's a dozen shinin' up to that girl. Tom Clarke is real per- 
 sistent." 
 
 Sammy forsook the building as a prop. "Who's he? Puncher?" 
 
 "Yes; an' bad," replied the agent. "But I reckon she don't 
 know it." 
 
 Sammy looked at the dust cloud and turned to ask one more 
 question. "What does this persistent gent look like, an' where's 
 he hang out?" He nodded at the verbose reply and strode to 
 his horse to ride toward the approaching herd. He espied Red 
 first, and hailed. "Cars here in two hours. Where's Hoppy?" 
 
 "Back in th' dust. But what happened to you?" demanded 
 Red, with virile interest. Sammy ignored the challenge and 
 loped along the edge of the cloud until he found the trail boss. 
 "Them cars'll be here in two hours," he reported. 
 
 "Take you three days to find it out?" snapped Hopalong. 
 
 "Took me three days to get 'em. I just about unraveled that 
 agent. He swears every time he hears a noise, thinkin' it's mc." 
 
 "Broke?" demanded Hopalong. 
 
 Sammy flushed. "I ain't gambled a cent since I hit town. An' 
 say, them pens won't hold a tenth of 'em," he replied, looking 
 over the dark blur that heaved under the dust cloud like a fog- 
 covered, choppy sea. 
 
 "I'm goin' to hold 'em on grass," replied the trail boss. "They 
 ain't got enough cars on this toy road to move all them cows 
 in less'n a week. I ain't goin' to let 'em lose no weight in pens. 
 Wait a minute! You're on night herd for stayin' away." 
 
 When Sammy rode into camp the following morning he 
 scorned Blinky's food, much to the open-mouthed amazement 
 of that worthy and Johnny Nelson. Blinky thought of doctors 
 and death; but Johnny, noticing his bunkmate's restlessness and 
 the careful grooming of his person, had grave suspicions. "Good 
 grub in this town?" he asked, saddling to go on his shift. 
 
 Sammy wiped a fleck of dust off his boot and looked up casu- 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 1VJ 
 
 ally. "Shore. Best is at the Dutchman's at th' far end of th' 
 street." 
 
 Johnny mounted, nodded and departed for the herd, where 
 Red was pleasantly cursing his tardiness. Red would eat Blinky's 
 grub and gladly. Johnny was cogitating. "There's a girl in this 
 town, an' he's got three days' head start. No wonder them cars 
 just got here!" Red's sarcastic voice intruded. "Think I eat grass, 
 or my stummick's made of rubber?" he snapped. "Think I 
 feed onct a month like a snake?" 
 
 "No, Reddie," smiled Johnny, watching the eyebrows lift at 
 the name. "More like a hawg." 
 
 Friday morning, a day ahead of the agent's promise, the cars 
 backed onto the siding and by noon the last cow of the herd 
 was taking its first — and last — ride. Sammy slipped away from 
 the outfit at the pens and approached the restaurant from the 
 rear. He would sit behind the partition this time and escape his 
 friends. 
 
 The soft sand deadened his steps and when he looked in at 
 the door, a cheery greeting on the tip of his tongue, he stopped 
 and stared unnoticed by the sobbing girl bent over the table. 
 One hand, outflung in dejected abandon, hung over the side 
 and Sammy's eyes, glancing at it, narrowed as he looked. His 
 involuntary, throaty exclamation sent the bowed head up with 
 a jerk, but the look of hate and fear quickly died out of her 
 eyes as she recognized him. 
 
 "An' all th' world tumbled down in a heap," he smiled. "But 
 it'll be all right again, same as it alius was," he assured her. 
 "Will Li'l Miss tell Sammy all about it so he can put it together 
 again?" 
 
 She looked at him through tear-dimmed eyes, the sobs slowly 
 drying to a spasmodic catching in the rounded throat. She shook 
 her head and the tears welled up again in answer to his sympa- 
 
2l8 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 thy. He walked softly to the table and placed a hand on her 
 bowed head. "Li'l Miss will tell Sammy all about it when she 
 dries her eyes an' gets comfy. Sammy will make things all right 
 again an' laugh with her. Don't you mind him a mite — ^jus' cry 
 hard, an' when all th' tears are used up, then you tell Sammy 
 what it's all about." She shook her head and would not look up. 
 He bent down carefully and examined the bruised wrist — and 
 his eyes glinted with rage; but he did not speak. The minutes 
 passed in silence, the girl ashamed to show her reddened and 
 tear-stained face; the boy stubbornly determined to stay and 
 learn the facts. He heard his friends tramp past, wondering 
 where he was, but he did not move. 
 
 Finally she brushed back her hair and looked up at him and 
 the misery in her eyes made him catch his breath. "Won't you 
 go?" she pleaded. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Please!" 
 
 "Not till I finds out whose fingers made them marks," he 
 replied. The look of fear flashed up again, but he checked it 
 with a smile he far from felt. "Nobody's goin' to make you cry, 
 an' get away with it," he told her. "Who was it?" 
 
 "I won't tell you. I can't tell you! I don't know!" 
 
 "Li'l Miss, look me in th' eyes an' say it again. I thought so. 
 You mustn't say things that ain't true. Who did that?" 
 
 "What do you want to know for?" 
 
 "Oh, jus' because." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 "Oh, I'll sorta talk to him. All I want to know is his name." 
 
 "I won't tell you; you'll fight with him." 
 
 He turned his sombrero over and looked gravely into its 
 crown. "Well," he admitted, "he might not like me talkin' 'bout 
 it. Of course, you can't never tell." 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 219 
 
 "But he didn't mean to hurt me. He's only rough and boister- 
 ous; and he wasn't himself," she pleaded, looking down . 
 
 "Uh-huh," grunted Sammy, cogitating. "So 'm I. I'm awful 
 rough an' boisterous, I am-, only I don't hurt wimmin. What's 
 his name?" 
 
 "I'll not tell you!" 
 
 "Well, all right; but if he ever comes in here again an' gets 
 rough an' boisterous he'll lose a hull lot of future. I'll naturally 
 blow most of his head ofl, which is frequent fatal. What's that? 
 Oh, he's a bad man, is he? Uh-huh; so 'm I. Well, I'm goin' to 
 run along now an' see th' boss. If you won't tell, you won't. I'll 
 be back soon," and he sauntered to the street and headed for 
 Pete's saloon, where the agent had said Mr. Clarke was wont to 
 pass his fretful hours. 
 
 As he turned the corner he bumped into Hopalong and 
 Johnny, who grabbed at him, and missed. He backed off and 
 rested on his toes, gingerly and alert. "Keep yore dusty ban's 
 ofl'n me," he said, quietly. "I'm goin' down to palaver with a 
 gent what I don't like." 
 
 Hopalong's shrewd glance looked him over. "What did this 
 gent do?" he asked, and he would not be evaded. 
 
 "Oh, he insulted a nice li'l girl, an' I'm in a hurry." 
 
 "G'way!" exclaimed Johnny. "That straight?" 
 
 "Too darn straight," snapped Sammy. "He went an' bruised 
 her wrists an' made her cry." 
 
 "Lead th' way. Kid," rejoined Johnny, readjusting his belt. 
 "Mebby he's got some friends," he suggested, hopefully. 
 
 "Yes," smiled Hopalong, "mebby he has. An' anyhow, Sammy; 
 you J{now yo're plumb careless with that gun. You might miss 
 him. Lead th' way." 
 
 As they started toward Pete's Johnny nudged his bunkmate 
 in the ribs: "Say; she ain't got no sisters, has she?" he whispered. 
 
220 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 One hour later Sammy, his face slightly scratched, lounged 
 into the kitchen and tossed his sombrero on a chair, grinning 
 cheerfully at the flushed, saucy face that looked out from under 
 a mass of rebellious, brown hair. "Well, I saw th' boss, an' I 
 come back to make everythin' well again," he asserted, laughing 
 softly. "That rough an' boisterous Mr. Clarke has sloped. He 
 won't come back no more." 
 
 "Why, Sammy!" she cried, aghast. "What have you done?" 
 
 "Well, for one thing, I've got you callin' me Sammy," he 
 chuckled, trying to sneak a hand over hers. "I told th' boss I'm 
 goin' to get a job up here, so I'll know Mr. Clarke won't come 
 back. But you know, he only thought he was bad. I shore had 
 to take his ol' gun away from him so he wouldn't go an' shoot 
 hisself, an' when las' seen he was feelin' for his cayuse, intendin' 
 to leave these parts. That's what I done," he nodded, brightly. 
 "Now comes what I'm goin' to do. Oh, Li'l Miss," he whispered, 
 eagerly. "I'm jus' all mixed up an' millin'. My own feet plumb 
 get in my way. So I jus' gotta stick aroun' an' change yore name, 
 what you don't like. Uh-huh; that's jus' what I gotta do," he 
 smiled. 
 
 She tossed her head and the tip-tilt nose went up indignantly. 
 "Indeed you'll do nothing of the kind, Sammy Porter!" she re- 
 torted. "I'll choose my own name when the time comes, and it 
 will not be Porter!" 
 
 He arose slowly and looked around. Picking up the pencil 
 that lay on the shelf he lounged over to the partition and printed 
 his name three times in large letters. "All right, Li'l Miss," he 
 agreed. "I'll jus' leave a list where you can see it while you're 
 selectin'. I'm now goin' out to get that job we spoke about. You 
 have th' name all picked out when I get back," he suggested, 
 waving his hand at the wall. "An' did anybody ever tell you it 
 was plumb risky to stick yore H'l nose up thataway?" 
 
 "Sammy Porter!" she stormed, stamping in vexation near the 
 
SAMMY HUNTS A JOB 221 
 
 crying point. "You get right out o£ here! I'll never speak to you 
 again!" 
 
 "You won't get a chance to talk much i£ you don't sorta bring 
 that snubby nose down a li'l lower. I'm plumb weak at times." 
 He laughed joyously and edged to the door. "Don't forget that 
 list. I'm goin' after that job. So-long, Li'l Miss." 
 
 "Sammy!" 
 
 "Oh, all right; I'll go after it later on," he laughed, returning. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 When Johnny Sloped 
 
 JOHNNY Nelson hastened to the corner o£ the bunkhouse and 
 then changed his pace until he seemed to ooze from there to 
 the cook shack door, where he lazily leaned against the door 
 jamb and ostentatiously picked his teeth with the negative end 
 of a match. The cook looked up calmly, and calmly went on 
 with his work; but if there was anything rasping enough to 
 cause his calloused soul to quiver it was the aforesaid calisthenics 
 executed by Johnny and the match; for Cookie's blunt nature 
 hated hints. If Johnny had demanded, even profanely and with 
 large personal animus, why meals were not ahead of time, it 
 would be a simple matter to heave something and enlarge upon 
 his short cut speech. But the subleties left the cook floundering 
 in a mire of rage — which he was very careful to conceal from 
 Johnny. The youthful nuisance had been evincing undue interest 
 in early suppers for nearly a month; and judging from the light- 
 ness of his repasts he was entirely unjustified in showing any 
 interest at all in the evening meal. So Cookie strangled the 
 biscuit in his hand, but smiled blandly at his tormentor. 
 
 "Well, all through?" he pleasantly inquired, glancing care- 
 lessly at Johnny's clothes. 
 
 "I'm hopin' to begin," retorted Johnny, and the toothpick 
 moved rapidly up and down. 
 
 Cookie condensed another biscuit and gulped. "That's shore 
 some stone," he said, enviously, eyeing the two-carat diamond 
 in Johnny's new blue tie. Johnny never had worn a tie before 
 he became owner of the diamond, but with the stone came the 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 223 
 
 keen realization o£ how lost it was in a neck-kerchief, how 
 often covered by the windblown folds; so he had hastened to 
 Buckskin and spent a dollar that belonged to Red for the tie, 
 thus exhausting both the supply of ties and Red's dollars. The 
 honor of wearing the only tie and diamond in that section of 
 the cow-country brought responsibilities, for he had spoken 
 hastily to several humorous friends and stood a good chance of 
 being soundly thrashed therefor. 
 
 He threw away the match and scratched his back ecstatically 
 on the door jamb while he strained his eyes trying to look under 
 his chin. Fixed chins and short ties are trials one must learn to 
 accept philosophically — and Johnny might have been spared the 
 effort were it not for the fact that the tie had been made for a 
 boy, and was awesomely shortened by encircling a sixteen-inch 
 neck. Evidently it had been made for a boy violently inclined 
 toward a sea-faring life, as suggested by the anchors embroidered 
 in white down its middle. 
 
 "Lemme see it," urged Cookie, sighing because its owner had 
 resolutely refused to play poker when he had no cash. This had 
 became a blighting sorrow in the life of a naturally exuberant 
 and very fair cook. 
 
 "An' for how long?" demanded Johnny, a cold and calculating 
 light glinting in his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, till supper's ready," replied Cookie with great careless- 
 ness. 
 
 "Nix; but you can wear it twenty minutes if you'll get my 
 grub quick," he replied. "Got to meet Lucas at half-past five." 
 He cautiously dropped the match he had thoughtlessly produced. 
 
 The cook tried to look his belief and accepted the offer. John- 
 ny's remarkably clean face, plastered hair and general gala attire 
 suggested that Lucas was a woman — which Lucas profanely 
 would have denied. Also, Johnny had been seen washing Ginger, 
 and when a puncher washes a cayuse it's a sign of insanity. Be- 
 
224 THE COMING OF CAS SIDY 
 
 sides, Ginger belonged to Red, who also had owned that lone 
 dollar. Red's clothes did not fit Johnny. 
 
 "Goin' to surprise Lucas?" inquired the cook. 
 
 "What you mean?" 
 
 Cookie glanced meaningly at the attire: "Er — you ain't in th' 
 habit o£ puttin' on war paint for to see Lucas, are you?" 
 
 Johnny's mental faculties produced: "Oh, we're goin' to a 
 dance." 
 
 "Where 'bouts?" exploded the cook. 
 
 "Way up north!" One's mind needs to be active as a flea to 
 lie properly to a man like the cook. He had made a ghastly 
 mistake. 
 
 "By golly! I'll give th' boys cold grub an' go with you," and 
 the cook began to save time. 
 
 Johnny gulped and shook his head: "Got a invite?" 
 
 Cookie caught the pan on his foot before it struck the floor 
 and gasped: "Invite? Ain't it free-fer-all?" 
 
 "No; this is a high-toned thing-a-bob. Costs a dollar a head, 
 too." 
 
 "High-toned?" snorted the cook, derisively. "Don't they know 
 you? An' I thought Red was broke. Show me that permit!'' 
 
 "Lucas's got it — that's why I've got to catch him." 
 
 "Oh! An' is he goin' all feathered up, too?" 
 
 "Shore, he's got to." 
 
 "Huh! He wouldn't dress like that to see a fight. Has she got 
 any sisters?" Cookie finished, hopefully. 
 
 "Now what you talkin' about?" 
 
 "Why, Lucas," answered the cook, placidly. "Lemme tell you 
 something. When you want to lose me have a invite to a water- 
 drinkin' contest. An' before you go, be shore to rub Hoppy's 
 boots some more; that's such a pasty shine it'll look like sand- 
 paper before you get to th' — dance. You want to make it hard 
 an' slippery. An' I've read som'ers that only wimmin ought to 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 225 
 
 smell like a drug-store. You better let her do th' fumigatin'." 
 Johnny surrendered and dolefully whiffed the crushed violets 
 
 he had paid two bits a pint for at El Paso — it was not necessary 
 
 to whiff them, but he did so. 
 "You ought to hone yore razor, too," continued the cook, 
 
 critically. 
 "I told Buck it was dull, I ain't goin' to sharpen it for him. 
 
 But, say, are you shore about th' perfumery?" 
 "Why, of course." 
 "But how'll I git it off?" 
 
 "Bury th' clothes," suggested Cookie, grinning. 
 "I like yore gall! Which clothes are best, Pete's or Billy's?" 
 "Pete's would fit you like th' wide, wide world. You don't 
 
 want blankets on when you go courtin'. Try Billy's. An' I got a 
 
 pair of socks, though one's green — but th' boots'U hide it." 
 "I didn't put none on my socks, you chump!" 
 "How'd / know? But, say! Has she got any sisters?" 
 "No!" yelled Johnny, halfway through the gallery in search 
 
 of Billy's clothes. When he emerged Cookie looked him over. 
 
 "Ain't it funny. Kid, how a pipe'll stink up clothes?" he smiled. 
 
 Johnny's retort was made over several yards of ground and when 
 
 he had mounted Cookie yelled and waved him to return. When 
 
 Johnny had obeyed and impatiently demanded the reason. 
 
 Cookie pleasantly remarked: "Now, be shore an' give her my 
 
 love. Kid." 
 Johnny's reply covered half a mile of trail. 
 
 Johnny rode alertly through Perry's Bend, for Sheriff Nolan 
 was no friend of his; and Nolan was not only a discarded suitor 
 of Miss Joyce, but a warm personal friend of George Greener, 
 the one rival Johnny feared. Greener was a widower as wealthy 
 as he was unscrupulous, and a power on that range: when he 
 said "jump," Nolan soared. 
 
226 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 The sherifE was standing before the Palace saloon when 
 Johnny rode past, and he could not keep quiet. His comment 
 was so judiciously chosen as to bring white spots on Johnny's 
 flushed cheeks. The Bar-20 puncher was not famed for his self- 
 control, and, wheeling in the saddle, he pointed a quivering fore- 
 finger at Mr. Nolan's badge of office, so conspicuously displayed: 
 "Better men than you have hid behind a badge and banked 
 on a man's regard for th' law savin' 'em from their just deserts. 
 Politics is a heck of a thing when it opens th' door to anything 
 that might roll in on th' wind. You come down across th' Une 
 tomorrow an' see me, without th' nickel-plated ornament you 
 disgraces," he invited. "Any dog can tell a lie in his kennel, 
 but it takes guts to bark outside th' yard." 
 
 Mr. Nolan flushed, went white, hesitated, and walked away. 
 To fight in defense of the law was his duty; but no sane man 
 warred on the Bar-20 unless he must. Mr. Nolan was a man 
 whose ideas of necessity followed strange curves, and not to his 
 credit. One might censure Mr. Cassidy or Mr. Connors, or pick 
 a fight with some of the others of that outfit and not get killed; 
 but he must not harm their protege. Mr. Nolan not only walked 
 away but he sought the darkest shadows and held conversation 
 with himself. If it were only possible to get the pugnacious and 
 very much spoiled Mr. Nelson to fracture, smash, pulverize some 
 law! This, indeed, would be sweet. 
 
 Meanwhile Johnny, having watched the sheriff slip away, 
 loosed a few more words into the air and went on his way, 
 whistling cheerfully. Reaching the Joyce cottage he was admitted 
 by Miss Joyce herself and at sight of her blushing face his ex- 
 uberant confidence melted and left him timid. This he was wont 
 to rout by big words and a dashing air he did not feel. 
 
 "Oh! Come right in," she invited. "But you are late," she 
 laughed, chidingly. 
 
 He critically regarded the dimples, while he replied that he 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 227 
 
 had drawn rein to slay die sheriff but, knowing that it would 
 cost him more valuable time, he had consented with himself 
 to postpone the event. 
 
 "But you must not do that!" she cried. "Why, that's terrible! 
 You shouldn't even think of such things." 
 
 "Well, of course — if yo're agin' it I won't." 
 
 "But what did he do?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't reckon I can tell that. But do you really want 
 him to live?" 
 
 "Why, certainly! What a foolish question." 
 
 "But why do you? Do you — lil^e him?" 
 
 "I like everybody." 
 
 "Yes; an' everybody likes you, too," he growled, the smile 
 fading. "That's th' trouble. Do you like him very much?" 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't ask such foolish questions." 
 
 "Yes; I know. But do you?" 
 
 "I prefer not to answer." 
 
 "Huh! That's an answer in itself. You do." 
 
 "I don't think you're very nice tonight," she retorted, a little 
 pout spoiling the bow in her lips. "You're awfully jealous, and 
 I don't Hke it." 
 
 "Gee! Don't like it! I should think you'd want me to be 
 jealous. I only wish you was jealous of me. Norah, I've just got 
 to say it now, an' find out — " 
 
 "Yes; tell me," she interrupted eagerly. "What did he do?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Mr. Nolan, of course." 
 
 "Nolan?" he demanded in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, yes; tell me." 
 
 "I ain't talkin' about him. I was goin' to tell you something 
 that I've—" 
 
 "That you've done and now regret ? Have you ever — ever 
 killed a man?" she breathed. "Have you?" 
 
228 THE COMING OF CASSmY 
 
 "No; yes! Lots of 'em," he confessed, remembering that once 
 she had expressed admiration for brave and daring men. "Most 
 half as many as Hopalong; an' I ain't near as old as him, 
 neither." 
 
 "You mean Mr. Cassidy ? Why don't you bring him with you 
 some evening? I'd like to meet him." 
 
 "Not me. I went an' brought a friend along once, an' had to 
 lick him th' next day to keep him away from here. He'd 'a' 
 camped right out there in front if I hadn't. No, ma'am; not 
 any." 
 
 "Why, the idea! But Mr. Greener's very much like your 
 friend, Mr. Cassidy. He's very brave, and a wonderful shot. 
 He told me so himself." 
 
 "What! He told you so hisself! Well, well. Beggin' yore 
 pardon, he ain't nowise like Hoppy, not even in th' topics of 
 his conversation. Why, he's a child; an' blinks when he shoots 
 off a gun. Here — can he show a gun Hke mine?" and forthwith 
 he held out his Colt, butt foremost, and indicated the notches 
 he had cut that afternoon. A fleeting doubt went through his 
 mind at what his outfit would say when it saw those notches. 
 The Bar-20 cut no notches. It wanted to forget. 
 
 She looked at them curiously and suddenly drew back. "Oh! 
 Are they — are they?" she whispered. 
 
 He nodded: "They are. There is plenty of room for Nolan's, 
 an' mebby his owner, too," he suggested. "Can't you see, 
 Norah?" he asked in a swift change of tone. "Can't you see? 
 Don't you know how much I — " 
 
 "Yes. It must be terrible to have such remorse," she quickly 
 interposed. "And I sympathize with you deeply, too." 
 
 "Remorse nothin'! Them fellers was lookin' for it, an' they 
 got just what they deserved. If I hadn't 'a' done it somebody 
 else would." 
 
 "And you a murderer! I never thought that of you. I can 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 229 
 
 hardly believe it of you. And you calmly confess it to me as 
 though it were nothing!" 
 
 "Why, I— 1-" 
 
 "Don't talk to me! To think you have human blood on your 
 hands. To think — " 
 
 "Norah! Norah, listen; won't you?" 
 
 " — ^that you are that sort of a man! How dare you call here 
 as you have? How dare you?" 
 
 "But I tell you they were tryin' to get me! I just had to. Why, 
 I didn't do it for nothin'. I've got a right to defend myself, ain't 
 I?" 
 
 "You had to? Is that true?" she demanded. 
 
 "Why, shore! Think I go 'round killin' men, like Greener does, 
 just for th' fun of it?" 
 
 "He doesn't do anything of the kind," she retorted. "You 
 know he doesn't! Didn't you just say he blinks when he shoots 
 off a gun?" 
 
 "Yes; I did. But I didn't want you to think he was a murderer 
 like Nolan," he explained. Even Cookie, he thought, would 
 find it hard to get around that neat little effort. 
 
 "I'm so relieved," she laughed, delighted at her success in 
 twisting him. "I am so glad he doesn't blink when he shoots. 
 I'd hate a man who was afraid to shoot." 
 
 Johnny's chest arose a Httle. "Well, how 'bout me?" 
 
 "But you've killed men; you've shot down your fellow men; 
 and have ghastly marks on your revolver to brag about." 
 
 "Well — say — ^but how can I shoot without shootin' or kill with- 
 out killin'?" he demanded. "An' I don't brag about 'em, neither; 
 it makes me feel too sad to do any braggin'. An' Greener's killed 
 'em, too; an' he brags about it." 
 
 "Yes; but he doesn't blink!" she exclaimed triumphantly. 
 
 "Neither do /." 
 
 "Yes; but you shoot to kill." 
 
230 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "Lord pity us— don't he?" 
 
 "Y-e-s, but that's diflFerent," she repHed, smiling brightly. 
 
 Johnny looked around the room, his eyes finally resting on 
 his hat. 
 
 "Yes, I see it's different. Greener can kill, an' bUnk! I can't. 
 If he kills a man he's a hero; I'm a murderer. I kinda reckon 
 he's got th' trail. But I love you, an' you've got to pick my trail 
 — does it lead up or down?" 
 
 "Johnny Nelson! What are you saying?" she demanded, 
 arising. 
 
 "Something turrible, mebby. I don't know; an' I don't care. 
 It's true — so there you are. Norah, can't you see I do?" he 
 pleaded, holding out his hands. "Won't you marry me?" 
 
 She looked down, her cheeks the color of fire, and Johnny 
 continued hurriedly: "I've loved you a whole month! When I'm 
 ridin' around I sorta' see you, an' hear you. Why, I talk to you 
 lots when I'm alone. I've saved up some money, an' I had to 
 work hard to save it, too. I've got some cows runnin' with our'n 
 — in a little while I'll have a ranch of my own. Buck'U let me 
 use th' east part of th' ranch, an' there's a hill over there that'd 
 look fine with a house on it. I can't wait no longer, Norah, I've 
 got to know. Will you let me put this on yore finger?" He 
 swiftly bent the pin into a ring and held it out eagerly: "Can 
 I?" 
 
 She pushed him away and yielded to a sudden pricking of 
 her conscience, speaking swiftly, as if forcing herself to do a 
 disagreeable duty, and hating herself at the moment. "Johnny, 
 I've been a — a flirt! When I saw you were beginning to care 
 too much for me I should have stopped it; but I didn't. I 
 amused myself — but I want you to believe one thing, to give me 
 a little credit for just one thing; I never thought what it might 
 mean to you. It was carelessness with me. But I was flirting, just 
 the same — and it hurts to admit it. I'm not good enough for 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 23 1 
 
 you, Johnny Nelson; it's hard to say, but it's true. Can you, 
 will you forgive me?" 
 
 He choked and stepped forward holding out his hands im- 
 ploringly, but she eluded him. When he saw the shame in her 
 face, the tears in her eyes, he stopped and laughed gently: "But 
 we can begin right now, can't we? I don't care, not if you'll 
 let me see you same as ever. You might get to care for me. 
 And, anyhow, it ain't yore fault. I reckon it's me that's to 
 blame." 
 
 At that moment he was nearer to victory than he had ever 
 been; but he did not realize it and opportunity died when he 
 failed to press his advantage. 
 
 "I am to blame," she said, so low he could hardly catch the 
 words. When she continued it was with a rush : "I am not free — 
 I haven't been for a week. I'm not free any more — and I've been 
 leading you on!" 
 
 His face hardened, for now the meaning of Greener's sneer- 
 ing laugh came to him, and a seething rage swept over him 
 against the man who had won. He knew Greener, knew him 
 well — ^the meanness of the man's nature, his cold cruelty; the 
 many things to the man's discredit loomed up large against 
 the frailty of the woman before him. 
 
 Norah stepped forward and laid a pleading hand on his arm, 
 for she knew the mettle of the men who worked under Buck 
 Peters: "What are you thinking? Tell me!" 
 
 "Why, I'm thinking what Nolan said. An', Norah, listen. 
 You say you want me to forgive you? Well, I do, if there's any- 
 thing to forgive. But I want you to promise me that if Greener 
 don't treat you right you'll tell me." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Only what I said. Do you promise?" 
 
 "Perhaps you would better speak to him about it!'* she re- 
 torted. 
 
232 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 "I will — an' plain. But don't worry 'bout me. It was my fault 
 for bein' a tenderfoot. I never played this game before, an' 
 don't know th' cards. Good-by." 
 
 He rode away slowly, and made the rounds, and by the time 
 he reached Lacey's he was so unsteady that he was refused a 
 drink and told to go home. But he headed for the Palace in- 
 stead, and when he stepped high over the doorsill Nolan was 
 seated in a chair tipped back against one of the side walls, and 
 behind the bar on the other side of the room Jed Terry drum- 
 med on the counter and expressed his views on local matters. 
 The sheriff was listening in a bored way until he saw Johnny 
 enter and head his way, feet high and chest out; and at that 
 moment Nolan's interest in local affairs flashed up brightly. 
 
 Johnny lost no time: "Nolan," he said, rocking on his heels, 
 "tell Greener I'll kill him if he marries that girl. He killed 
 his first wife by abuse an' he don't kill no more. Savvy?" 
 
 The sheriff warily arose, for here was the opportunity he had 
 sought. The threat to kill had a witness. 
 
 "An' if you opens yore toad's mouth about her like you did 
 tonight, I'll kill you, too." The tones were dispassionate, the 
 words deliberate. 
 
 "Hear that, Jed?" cried the sheriff, excitedly. "Nelson, yo'rt 
 under ar — " 
 
 "Shut up!" snapped Johnny loudly, this time with feeling. 
 "When yo're betters are talkin' you keep yore face closed. Now, 
 it ain't hardly healthy to slander wimmin in this country, 
 'specially good wimmin. You lied like a dog to me tonight, an' 
 I let you off; don't try it again." 
 
 "I told th' truth!" snapped Nolan, heatedly. "I said she was 
 a flirt, an' by th' great horned spoon she is a flirt, an' you — " 
 
 The sheriff prided himself upon his quickness, but the leaping 
 gun was kicked out of his hand before he knew what was com- 
 ing; a chair glanced off Jed's face and wrapped the front win- 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 233 
 
 dow about itself in its passing, leaving the bar-tender in the 
 throbbing darkness of inter-planetary space; and as the sheriff 
 opened his eyes and recovered from the hard swings his face 
 had stopped, a galloping horse drummed southward toward 
 the Bar-20; and the silence of the night was shattered by lusty 
 war-whoops and a spurting .45. 
 
 When the sheriff and his posse called at the Bar-20 before 
 breakfast the following morning they found a grouchy outfit 
 and learned some facts. 
 
 "Where's Johnny?" repeated Hopalong, with a rising inflec- 
 tion. "Only wish I knowed!" 
 
 A murmur of wistful desire arose and Lanky Smith restlessly 
 explained it: "He rampages in 'bout midnight an' wakes us up 
 with his racket. When we asks what he's doin' with our posses- 
 sions he suggests we go to blazes. He takes his rifle, Pete's rifle, 
 Buck's brand new canteen, 'bout eighty pounds of cartridges an' 
 other useful duffle, all th' tobacco, an' blows away quick." 
 
 "On my cayuse," murmured Red. 
 
 "Wearin' my good clothes," added Billy, sorrowfully. 
 
 "An' my boots," sighed Hopalong. 
 
 "I ain't got no field glasses no more," grumbled Lanky. 
 
 "But he only got one laig of my new pants," chuckled Skinny. 
 "I was too strong for him." 
 
 "He yanked my blanket off'n me, which makes me steal 
 Red's," grinned Pete. 
 
 "Which you didn't keep very long!" retorted Red, with de- 
 rision. 
 
 "Which makes us all peevish," plaintively muttered Buck. 
 
 "Now ain't it a heck of a note?" laughed Cookie, loudly, 
 forthwith getting scarce. He had nothing good enough to be 
 taken. 
 
 "An' whichever was it run ag'in' yore face. Sheriff?" sym- 
 
234 ""^^ COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 pathetically inquired Hopalong. "Mighty good thing it stopped," 
 he added thoughtfully. 
 
 "Never mind my face!" snorted the peace officer hotly as his 
 deputies smoothed out their grins. "I want to know where Nel- 
 son is, an' darned quick! We'll search the house first." 
 
 "Hold on," responded Buck. "North of Salt Spring Creek 
 yo're a sheriff; down here yo're nothin'. Don't search no house. 
 He ain't here." 
 
 "How do I know he ain't?" snapped Nolan. 
 
 "My word's good; or there'll be another election stolen up 
 in yore county," rejoined Buck ominously. "An' I wouldn't 
 hunt him too hard, neither. We'll punish him." 
 
 Nolan wheeled and rode toward the hills without another 
 word, his posse pressing close behind. When they entered 
 Apache Pass one of them accidentally exploded his rifle, calling 
 forth an angry tirade from the sheriff. Johnny heard it, and 
 cared little for the the warning from his friend Lucas; he 
 waited and then rode down the rocky slope of the pass on the 
 trail o£ the posse, squinting wickedly at the distant group as he 
 caught glimpses of them now and again, and with no anxiety 
 regarding backward glances. "Lot's wife'll have nothing on 
 them if they look back," he muttered, fingering his rifle lov- 
 ingly. At nightfall he watched them depart and grinned at the 
 chase he would lead them when they returned. 
 
 But he did not see them again, although his friends reported 
 that they were turning the range upside down to find him. 
 One of his outfit rode out to him with supplies and information 
 every few days and it was Pete who told him that six posses 
 were in the hills. "An' you can't leave, 'cause one of th' cordon 
 would get you shore. I had a heck of a time getting in today." 
 Red reported that the sheriff had sworn to take him dead or 
 alive. Then came the blow. The sheriff was at the point of death 
 from lockjaw caused by complete paralysis of curea-frend nerve 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 235 
 
 just above the phlagmatic diaphragm, which Johnny had frac- 
 tured. It was Hopalong who imparted this sad news, and with- 
 ered Johnny's hope o£ returning to a comfortable bunkhouse and 
 square meals. So the fugitive clung to the hills, shunned sky- 
 lines and wondered if the sheriff would recover before snow 
 flew. He was hungry most of the time now because the outfit 
 was getting stingy with the food supplies — and he dared not 
 shoot any game. 
 
 Four weeks passed, weeks of hunger and nervous strain, and 
 he was getting desperate. He had learned that Greener and his 
 fiancee were going down to Linnville soon, since Perry's Bend 
 had no parson; and his cup of bitterness, overflowing, drove 
 him to risk an attempt to leave that part of the country. He 
 had seen none of Pete's "cordon" although he had looked for 
 them, and he believed he could get away. So he rode cautiously 
 down Apache Pass one noon, thoughtfully planning his flight. 
 The sand, washed down the rock wall by the last rain, deadened 
 all sounds of his progress, and as he turned a sharp bend in 
 the cut he almost bumped into Greener and Norah Joyce. They 
 were laughing at how they had eluded the crowd of friends 
 who were eager to accompany them — ^but the laughter froze 
 when Johnny's gun swung up. 
 
 "'Nds up. Greener!" he snapped, viciously, remembering his 
 promise to Sheriff Nolan. "Miss Joyce, if you make any trouble 
 it'll cost him his life." 
 
 "Turned highwayman, eh?" sneered Greener, keenly alert 
 for the necessary fraction of a second's carelessness on the part 
 of the other. He was gunman enough to need no more. 
 
 "Miss Joyce, will you please ride along? I want to talk to 
 him alone," said Johnny, his eyes fastened intently on those of 
 his enemy. 
 
 "Yes, Norah! that's best. I'll join you in a few minutes," urged 
 Greener, smiling at her. 
 
236 THE COMING OF CASSmY 
 
 Johnny had a sudden diought and his warning was grave and 
 cold. "Don't get very far away an' don't make no sounds, or 
 signals; if you do it'll be th' quickest way to need 'em. He'll 
 pay for any mistakes like that." 
 
 "You coward!" she cried, angrily, and then delivered an im- 
 promptu lecture that sent the blood surging into the fugitive's 
 wan cheeks. But she obeyed, slowly, at Greener's signal, and 
 when she was out of sight Johnny spoke. 
 
 "Greener, yo're not going to marry her. You know what you 
 are, you know how yore first wife died — an' I don't intend 
 that Norah shall be abused as the other was. I'm a fugitive, hard 
 pressed; I'm weak from want of food, and from hardships; 
 all I have left is a slim chance of gettin' away. I've reached the 
 point where I can't harm myself by shooting you, an' I'm goin' 
 to do it rather than let any trouble come to her. But you'll get 
 an even break, because I ain't never going to shoot a man when 
 he's helpless. Got anything to say?" 
 
 "Yes; yo're th' biggest fool I ever saw," repHed Greener. 
 "You're locoed through an' through; an' I'm goin' to take great 
 pleasure in putting you away. But I want to thank you for one 
 thing you did. You were drunk at the time an' may not re- 
 member it. When you hit Nolan for talking like he did I liked 
 you for it, an' I'm goin' to tell you so. Now we'll get at th' 
 matter before us so I can move along." 
 
 Neither had paid any attention to Norah in the earnestness 
 and keen-eyed scrutiny of each other and the first sign they 
 had of her actions was when she threw her arms around 
 Greener's neck and shielded him. He was too much of a man 
 to fire from cover and Johnny realized it while the other tried 
 to get her to leave the scene. 
 
 "I won't leave you to be murdered — ^I J{now what it means, I 
 \now it," she cried. "My place is here, and you can't deny 
 your wife's first request! What will I do without you! Oh, dear. 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 237 
 
 let me stay! I will stay! What woman ever had such a wedding 
 day before! Dear, dear, what can I do? Tell me what to do!" 
 
 Johnny sniffled and wished the posse had taken him. This 
 was a side he had never thought of. His wife! Greener's wife! 
 Then he was too late, and to go on would be a greater evil 
 than the one he wished to eliminate. When she turned on him 
 like a tigress and tore him to pieces word by word, tears rolling 
 down her pallid cheeks and untold misery in her eyes, he shook 
 his head and held up his hand. 
 
 "Greener, you win; I can't stop what's happened," he said, 
 slowly. "But I'll tell you this, an' I mean every word: If you 
 don't treat her Uke she deserves, I'll come back some of these 
 days and kill you shore. Nolan got his because he talked ill of 
 her; an' you'll get yours if I die the next minute, if you ain't 
 square with her." 
 
 "I don't need no instructions on how to treat my wife," re- 
 torted the other. "An' I'm beginnin' to see th' cause of yore in- 
 sanity, and it pardons you as nothing else will. Put up yore gun 
 an' get back to th' ranch, where you belong — an' \eep away from 
 me. Savvy?" 
 
 "Not much danger of me gettin' in yore way," growled 
 Johnny, "when I'm hunted like a dog for doing what any man 
 would 'a' done. When th' sheriff gets well, if he ever does, meb- 
 by I'll come back an' take my medicine. How was he any- 
 how, when you left?" 
 
 "Dead tired, an' some under th' influence of liquor," replied 
 Greener, a smile breaking over his frown. He knew the whole 
 story well, as did the whole range, and he had laughed over it 
 with the Bar-20 outfit. 
 
 "What's that? Ain't he near dead?" cried Johnny, amazed. 
 
 "Well, purty nigh dead of fatigue dancin' at our weddin' 
 last night; but I reckon he'll be driftin' home purty soon, an' 
 all recovered." Greener suddenly gave way and roared with 
 
238 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 laughter. There was a large amount o£ humor in his make-up 
 and it took possession of him, shaking him from head to foot. 
 He had always Hked Johnny, not because he ever wanted to 
 but because no one could know the Bar-20 protege and keep 
 from it. This climax was too much for him, and his wife, grad- 
 ually recovering herself, caught the infection and joined in. 
 
 Johnny's eyes were staring and his mouth wide open, but 
 Greener's next words closed the eyes to a squint and snapped 
 shut the open mouth. 
 
 "That there paralysis of th' cure-a-friend nerve didn't last; 
 an' when I heard why you licked him I said a few words that 
 made him a wiser man. He didn't hunt you after th' first day. 
 Now you go up an' shake ban's with him. He knows he got what 
 was coming to him and so does everybody else know it. Go home 
 an' quit playin' th' fool for th' whole blamed range to laugh at.** 
 
 Johnny stirred and came back to the scene before him. His 
 face was livid with rage and he could not speak at first. Finally, 
 however, he mastered himself and looked up: "I'm cured, all 
 right, but they ain't! Wait till my turn comes! What a fool I 
 was to believe 'em; but they usually tell th' truth. 'Cura-a-friend 
 nerve'! They'll pay me dollar for cent before I'm finished!" He 
 caught the sparkle of his diamond pin, the pin he had won, 
 when drunk, at El Paso, and a sickly grin flickered over the 
 black frown. "I'm a little late, I reckon; but I'd like to give 
 th' bride a present to show there ain't no hard feelin's on my 
 part, an' to bring her luck. This here pin ain't no fit ornament 
 for a fool like me, so if it's all right, I'll be plumb tickled to 
 see her have it. How 'bout it. Greener?" 
 
 The happy pair exchanged glances and Mrs. Greener, hesitat- 
 ing and blushing, accepted the gift: "You can bend it into a ring 
 easy," Johnny hastily remarked, to cut off her thanks. 
 
 Greener extended his hand: "I reckon we can be friends, at 
 
WHEN JOHNNY SLOPED 239 
 
 that, Nelson. You squared up with me when you licked Nolan. 
 Come up an' see us when you can." 
 
 Johnny thanked him and shook hands and then watched 
 them ride slowly down the canyon, hand in hand, happy as little 
 children. He sat silently, lost in thought, his anger rising by leaps 
 and bounds against the men who had kept him on the anxious 
 seat for a month. Straightening up suddenly, he tore ofl the 
 navy blue necktie and, hurling it from him, fell into another 
 reverie, staring at the canyon wall, but seeing in his mind's 
 eye the outfit planning his punishment; and his eyes grew red- 
 der and redder with fury. But it was a long way home and his 
 temper cooled as he rode; that is why no one knew of his return 
 until they saw him asleep in his bunk when they awakened 
 at daylight the following morning. And no one ever asked 
 about the diamond, or made any explanations — for some things 
 are better unmentioned. But they paid for it all before Johnny 
 considered the matter closed. 
 
 THE END 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111