Bar-20 Days by Clarence Edward Mulford (new reading TXT) 📗

himself in spare moments; that is, he would have had but for one thing: As he slowly looked around for his horse he came to himself with a sharp jerk, and hot profanity routed the germ of religion incubating in his soul. His horse was missing! Here was a pretty mess, he thought savagely; and then his expression of anger and perplexity gave way to a flickering grin as the probable solution came to his mind.

“By the Lord, I never saw such a bunch to play jokes,” he laughed. “Won't they never grow up? They was watching me when I went inside an' sneaked up and rustled my cayuse. Well, I'll get back again without much trouble, all right. They ought to know me better by this time.”

“Hey, stranger!” he called to a man who was riding past, “have you seen anything of a skinny roan cayuse fifteen han's high, white stocking on the near foreleg, an' a bandage on the off fetlock, Bar-20 being the brand?”

The stranger, knowing the grinning inquisitor by sight, suspected that a joke was being played: he also knew Dave Wilkes and that gentleman's friends. He chuckled and determined to help it along a little. “Shore did, pardner; saw a man leading him real cautious. Was he yourn?”

“Oh, no; not at all. He belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who left him to my second cousin. You see, I borrowed it,” he grinned, making his way leisurely towards the general store, kept by his friend Dave, the joker. “Funny how everybody likes a joke,” he muttered, opening the door of the store. “Hey, Dave,” he called.

Mr. Wilkes wheeled suddenly and stared. “Why, I thought you was half-way to Wallace's by now!” he exclaimed. “Did you come back to lose that lone dollar?”

“Oh, I lost that too. But yo're a real smart cuss, now ain't you?” queried Hopalong, his eyes twinkling and his face wreathed with good humor. “An' how innocent you act, too. Thought you could scare me, didn't you? Thought I'd go tearing 'round this fool town like a house afire, hey? Well, I reckon you can guess again. Now, I'm owning up that the joke's on me, so you hand over my cayuse, an' I'll make up for lost time.”

Dave Wilkes' face expressed several things, but surprise was dominant. “Why, I ain't even seen yore ol' cayuse, you chump! Last time I saw it you was on him, going like the devil. Did somebody pull you off it an' take it away from you?” he demanded with great sarcasm. “Is somebody abusing you?”

Hopalong bit into a generous handful of dried apricots, chewed complacently for a moment, and replied: “'At's aw right; I want my cayuse.” Swallowing hastily, he continued: “I want it, an' I've come to the right place for it, too. Hand it over, David.”

“Dod blast it, I tell you I ain't got it!” retorted Dave, beginning to suspect that something was radically wrong. “I ain't seen it, an' I don't know nothing about it.”

Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Well, then, Tom or Art does, all right.”

“No, they don't, neither; I watched 'em leave an' they rode straight out of town, an' went the other way, same as they allus do.” Dave was getting irritated. “Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, or is that animule of yourn really missing?”

“Huh!” snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. “'Ese prunes er purty good,” he mumbled, in grave congratulation. “I don' get prunes like 'ese very of'n.”

“I reckon you don't! They ought to be good! Cost me thirty cents a half-pound,” Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet. It didn't take much of a loss to wipe out a day's profits with him.

“An' I don't reckon you paid none too much for 'em, at that,” Mr. Cassidy responded, nodding his head in comprehension. “Ain't no worms in 'em, is there?”

“Shore there is!” exploded Dave. “Plumb full of 'em!”

“You don't say! Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or try the apricots. Ain't no worms in them, anyhow. But when am I going to get my cayuse? I've got a long way to go, an' delay is costly—how much did you say these yaller fellers cost?” he asked significantly, trying another handful of apricots.

“On the dead level, cross my heart an' hope to die, but I ain't seen yore cayuse since you left here,” earnestly replied Dave. “If you don't know where it is, then somebody went an' lifted it. It looks like it's up to you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly-ache at my expense. I ain't trying to keep you, God knows!”

Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. “Hey Dave; wait a minute!” and he dashed out of the store and made good time towards the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed the covers on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while. It looked like a plain case of horse-stealing to him.

“Stranger,” cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, “where did you see that cayuse of mine?”

“The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's Corners,” the stranger replied, grinning broadly. “It's a long walk. Have something before you starts?”

“Damn the walk! Who was riding him?”

“Nobody at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn't being rid when I saw him.”

“Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!”

“Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?” smiled the stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke.

“You bet yore life it is!” shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale. “You tell me who was leading him, understand?”

“Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't,” replied the stranger. “Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was—Hey! Wait a minute!” he shouted at Hopalong's back.

“Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle—quick!” cried Hopalong from the middle of the street as he ran towards the store. “Hypocrite son-of-a-hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a thief could wear such a kerchief!”

“I'm with you!” shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the corral in the rear of his store.

“No, you ain't with me, neither!” replied Hopalong, deftly saddling. “This ain't no plain hoss-thief case—it's a private grudge. See you later, mebby,” and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts of the town.

Dave looked after him. “Well, that feller has shore got a big start on you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She can out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked sort of