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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Observing that Mr. Travennes headed south on the quest, Mr. Cassidy reasoned that the missing bronchos ought to be somewhere in the north, and he postponed the southern trip until such time when they would have more leisure at their disposal. Mr. Travennes showed a strong inclination to shy at this arrangement, but quieted down under persuasion, and they started off toward where Mr. Cassidy firmly believed the North Pole and the cayuses to be.
“Yu has got quite a metropolis here,” pleasantly remarked Mr. Cassidy as under his direction they made for a distant corral. “I can see four different types of architecture, two of 'em on one residence,” he continued as they passed a wood and adobe hut. “No doubt the railroad will put a branch down here some day an' then yu can hire their old cars for yore public buildings. Then when yu gets a post-office yu will shore make Chicago hustle some to keep her end up. Let's assay that hollow for horse-hide; it looks promisin'.”
The hollow was investigated but showed nothing other than cactus and baked alkali. The corral came next, and there too was emptiness. For an hour the search was unavailing, but at the end of that time Mr. Cassidy began to notice signs of nervousness on the part of his guest, which grew less as they proceeded. Then Mr. Cassidy retraced their steps to the place where the nervousness first developed and tried another way and once more returned to the starting point.
“Yu seems to hanker for this fool exercise,” quoth Mr. Trayennes with much sarcasm. “If yu reckons I'm fond of this locoed ramblin' yu shore needs enlightenment.”
“Sometimes I do get these fits,” confessed Mr. Cassidy, “an' when I do I'm dead sore on objections. Let's peek in that there hut,” he suggested.
“Huh; yore ideas of cayuses are mighty peculiar. Why don't you look for 'em up on those cactuses or behind that mesquite? I wouldn't be a heap surprised if they was roostin' on th' roof. They are mighty knowing animals, cayuses. I once saw one that could figger like a schoolmarm,” remarked Mr. Travennes, beginning sarcastically and toning it down as he proceeded, out of respect for his companion's gun.
“Well, they might be in th' shack,” replied Mr. Cassidy. “Cayuses know so much that it takes a month to unlearn them. I wouldn't like to bet they ain't in that hut, though.”
Mr. Travennes snickered in a manner decidedly uncomplimentary and began to whistle, softly at first. The gentleman from the Bar-20 noticed that his companion was a musician; that when he came to a strong part he increased the tones until they bid to be heard at several hundred yards. When Mr. Travennes had reached a most passionate part in “Juanita” and was expanding his lungs to do it justice he was rudely stopped by the insistent pressure of his guard's Colt's on the most ticklish part of his ear.
“I shore wish yu wouldn't strain yoreself thataway,” said Mr. Cassidy, thinking that Mr. Travennes might be endeavoring to call assistance. “I went an' promised my mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't let nobody whistle out loud like that, an' th' opery is hereby stopped. Besides, somebody might hear them mournful tones an' think that something is th' matter, which it ain't.”
Mr. Travennes substituted heartfelt cursing, all of which was heavily accented.
As they approached the hut Mr. Cassidy again tickled his prisoner and insisted that he be very quiet, as his cayuse was very sensitive to noise and it might be there. Mr. Cassidy still thought Mr. Travennes might have friends in the hut and wouldn't for the world disturb them, as he would present a splendid target as he approached the building.
CHAPTER XIV. The Tale of a Cigarette
The open door revealed three men asleep on the earthen floor, two of whom were Mexicans. Mr. Cassidy then for the first time felt called upon to relieve his companion of the Colt's which so sorely itched that gentleman's thigh and then disarmed the sleeping guards.
“One man an' a half,” murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in his creed that it took four Mexicans to make one Texan.
In the far corner of the room were two bronchos, one of which tried in vain to kick Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away. The noise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their feet, their hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the weapons which peeked contentedly from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy's open shirt. One of the Mexicans made a lightning-like grab for the back of his neck for the knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the front of his neck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the knife flashed past Mr. Cassidy's arm, wide by two feet, and thudded into the door frame, where it hummed angrily.
“The only man who could do that right was th' man who invented it, Mr. Bowie, of Texas,” explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then he glanced at the broncho, that was squealing in rage and fear at the shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small room, and laughed.
“That's my cayuse, all right, an' he wasn't up no cactus nor roostin' on th' roof, neither. He's th' most affectionate beast I ever saw. It took me nigh onto six months afore I could ride him without fighting him to a standstill,” said Mr. Cassidy to his guest. Then he turned to the horse and looked it over. “Come here! What d'yu mean, acting thataway? Yu ragged end of nothin' wobbling in space! Yu wall-eyed, ornery, locoed guide to Hades! Yu won't be so frisky when yu've made them seventy hot miles between here an' Alkaline in five hours,” he promised, as he made his way toward the animal.
Mr. Travennes walked over to the opposite wall and took down a pouch of tobacco which hung from a peg. He did this in a manner suggesting ownership, and after he had deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand he put the pouch in his pocket and, lighting up, inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. Mr. Cassidy turned around and glanced the group over, wondering if the tobacco had been left in the hut on a former call.
“Did yu find yore makings?” He asked, with a note of congratulations in his voice.
“Yep. Want one?” Asked Mr. Travennes.
Mr. Cassidy ignored the offer and turned to the guard whom he had found asleep.
“Is that his tobacco?” He asked, and the guard, anxious to make everything run smoothly, told the truth and answered:
“Shore. He left it here last night,” whereupon Mr. Travennes swore and Mr. Cassidy smiled grimly.
“Then yu knows how yore cayuse got in an' how mine got out,” said the latter. “I wish yu would explain,” he added, fondling his Colts.
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