Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20 by Clarence Edward Mulford (spanish books to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Clarence Edward Mulford
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“Good,” said the landlord, flopping another flapjack, “and a warnin' to hoss thieves.
“Ahem,” coughed Mr. Cassidy and then continued, “is he a tall, lanky, yaller-headed son-of-a-gun, with a big nose an' lots of ears?”
“Mebby so,” answered the host.
“Urn, slopping over into bad Sioux,” thought Mr. Cassidy, and then said aloud, “How long has he hung around this here layout?” At the same time passing a warning glance at his companion.
The landlord straightened up. “Look here, stranger, if yu hankers after his pedigree so all-fired hard yu had best pump him.”
“I told yu this here feller wasn't a man what would give away all he knowed,” lied Mr. Connors, turning to his friend and indicating the host. “He ain't got time for that. Anybody can see that he is a powerful busy man. An' then he ain't no child.”
Mr. Cassidy thought that the landlord could tell all he knew in about five minutes and then not break any speed records for conversation, but he looked properly awed and impressed. “Well, yu needn't go an' get mad about it! I didn't know, did I?”
“Who's gettin' mad?” Pugnaciously asked Mr. Connors. After his injured feelings had been soothed by Mr. Cassidy's sullen silence he again turned to the landlord.
“What did this Travennes look like when yu saw him last?” Coaxed Mr. Connors.
“Th' same as he does now, as yu can see by lookin' out of th' window. That's him down th' street,” enlightened the host, thawing to the pleasant Mr. Connors.
Mr. Cassidy adopted the suggestion and frowned. Mr. Travennes and two companions were walking toward the corral and Mr. Cassidy once again slid out of the window, his friend going by the door.
CHAPTER XIII. Travennes' Discomfiture
When Mr. Travennes looked over the corral fence he was much chagrined to see a man and a Colt both paying strict attention to his nose.
“Mornin', Duke,” said the man with the gun. “Lose anything?”
Mr. Travennes looked back at his friends and saw Mr. Connors sitting on a rock holding two guns. Mr. Travennes' right and left wings were the targets and they pitted their frowns against Mr. Connors' smile.
“Not that I knows of,” replied Mr. Travennes, shifting his feet uneasily.
“Find anything?” Came from Mr. Cassidy as he sidled out of the gate.
“Nope,” replied the captain of the Terrors, eying the Colt. “Are yu in the habit of payin' early mornin' calls to this here corral?” persisted Mr. Cassidy, playing with the gun.
“Ya-as. That's my business—I'm th' captain of the vigilantes.”
“That's too bad,” sympathized Mr. Cassidy, moving forward a step.
Mr. Travennes looked put out and backed off. “What yu mean, stickin' me up this-away?” He asked indignantly.
“Yu needn't go an' get mad,” responded Mr. Cassidy. “Just business. Yore cayuse an' another shore climbed this corral fence last night an' ate up our bronchs, an' I just nachurly want to know about it.”
Mr. Travennes looked his surprise and incredulity and craned his neck to see for himself. When he saw his horse peacefully scratching itself he swore and looked angrily up the street. Mr. Connors, behind the shack, was hidden to the view of those on the street, and when two men ran up at a signal from Mr. Travennes, intending to insert themselves in the misunderstanding, they were promptly lined up with the first two by the man on the rock.
“Sit down,” invited Mr. Connors, pushing a chunk of air out of the way with his guns. The last two felt a desire to talk and to argue the case on its merits, but refrained as the black holes in Mr. Connors' guns hinted at eruption. “Every time yu opens yore mouths yu gets closer to th' Great Divide,” enlightened that person, and they were childlike in their belief.
Mr. Travennes acted as though he would like to scratch his thigh where his Colt's chafed him, but postponed the event and listened to Mr. Cassidy, who was asking questions.
“Where's our cayuses, General?”
Mr. Travennes replied that he didn't know. He was worried, for he feared that his captor didn't have a secure hold on the hammer of the ubiquitous Colt's.
“Where's my cayuse?” Persisted Mr. Cassidy.
“I don't know, but I wants to ask yu how yu got mine,” replied Mr. Travennes.
“Yu tell me how mine got out an' I'll tell yu how yourn got in,” countered Mr. Cassidy.
Mr. Connors added another to his collection before the captain replied.
“Out in this country people get in trouble when they're found with other folks' cayuses,” Mr. Travennes suggested.
Mr. Cassidy looked interested and replied: “Yu shore ought to borrow some experience, an' there's lots floating around. More than one man has smoked in a powder mill, an' th' number of them planted who looked in th' muzzle of a empty gun is scandalous. If my remarks don't perculate right smart I'll explain.”
Mr. Travennes looked down the street again, saw number five added to the line-up, and coughed up chunks of broken profanity, grieving his host by his lack of courtesy.
“Time,” announced Mr. Cassidy, interrupting the round. “I wants them cayuses an' I wants 'em right now. Yu an' me will amble off an' get 'em. I won't bore yu with tellin' yu what'll happen if yu gets skittish. Slope along an' don't be scared; I'm with yu,” assured Mr. Cassidy as he looked over at Mr. Connors, whose ascetic soul pined for the flapjacks of which his olfactories caught intermittent whiffs.
“Well, Red, I reckons yu has got plenty of room out here for all yu may corral; anyhow there ain't a whole lot more. My friend Slim an' I are shore going to have a devil of a time if we can t find them cussed bronchs. Whew, them flapjacks smell like a plain trail to payday. Just think of th' nice maple juice we used to get up to Cheyenne on them frosty mornings.”
“Get out of here an' lemme alone! 'What do yu allus want to go an' make a feller unhappy for? Can't yu keep still about grub when yu knows I ain't had my morning's feed yet?” Asked Mr. Connors, much aggrieved.
“Well, I'll be back directly an' I'll have them cayuses or a scalp. Yu tend to business an' watch th' herd. That shorthorn yearling at th' end of th' line”—pointing to a young man who looked capable of taking risks—“he looks like he might take a chance an' gamble with yu,” remarked Mr. Cassidy, placing Mr. Travennes in front of him
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