Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20 by Clarence Edward Mulford (spanish books to read TXT) 📗

“Right behind yu,” he answered. “Th' town lies right ahead.”

“Are you going there?” She asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Then you will not care if I ride with you?” She asked. “I am a trifle frightened.”

“Why, I'd be some pleased if yu do, 'though there ain't nothing out here to be afraid of now.”

“I had no intention of getting lost,” she assured him, “but I dismounted to pick flowers and cactus leaves and after a while I had no conception of where I was.”

“How is it yu are out here?” He asked. “Yu shouldn't get so far from town.”

“Why, papa is an invalid and doesn't like to leave his room, and the town is so dull, although the carnival is waking it up somewhat. Having nothing to do I procured a horse and determined to explore the country. Why, this is like Stanley and Livingstone, isn't it? You rescued the explorer!” And she laughed heartily. He wondered who in thunder Stanley and Livingstone were, but said nothing.

“I like the West, it is so big and free,” she continued. “But it is very monotonous at times, especially when compared with New York. Papa swears dreadfully at the hotel and declares that the food will drive him insane, but I notice that he eats much more heartily than he did when in the city. And the service!—it is awful. But when one leaves the town behind it is splendid, and I can appreciate it because I had such a hard season in the city last winter—so many balls, parties and theaters that I simply wore myself out.”

“I never hankered much for them things,” Hopalong replied. “An' I don't like th' towns much, either. Once or twice a year I gets as far as Kansas City, but I soon tires of it an' hits th' back trail. Yu see, I don't like a fence country—I wants lots of room an' air.”

She regarded him intently: “I know that you will think me very forward.”

He smiled and slowly replied: “I think yu are all O. K.”

“There do not appear to be many women in this country,” she suggested.

“No, there ain't many,” he replied, thinking of the kind to be found in all of the cow-towns. “They don't seem to hanker for this kind of life—they wants parties an' lots of dancin' an' them kind of things. I reckon there ain't a whole lot to tempt em to come.

“You evidently regard women as being very frivolous,” she replied.

“Well, I'm speakin' from there not being any out here,” he responded, “although I don't know much about them, to tell th' truth. Them what are out here can't be counted.” Then he flushed and looked away.

She ignored the remark and placed her hand to her hair:

“Goodness! My hair must look terrible!”

He turned and looked: “Yore hair is pretty—I allus did like brown hair.”

She laughed and put back the straggling locks: “It is terrible! Just look at it! Isn't it awful?”

“Why, no: I reckons not,” he replied critically. “It looks sort of free an' easy thataway.”

“Well, it's no matter, it cannot be helped,” she laughed. “Let's race!” she cried and was off like a shot.

He humored her until he saw that her mount was getting unmanageable, when he quietly overtook her and closed her pony's nostrils with his hand, the operation having a most gratifying effect.

“Joe hadn't oughter let yu had this cayuse,” he said.

“Why, how do you know of whom I procured it?” She asked. “By th' brand: it's a O-Bar-O, canceled, with J. H. over it. He buys all of his cayuses from th' O-Bar-O.”

She found out his name, and, after an interval of silence, she turned to him with eyes full of inquiry: “What is that thorny shrub just ahead?” She asked.

“That's mesquite,” he replied eagerly.

“Tell me all about it,” she commanded.

“Why, there ain't much to tell,” he replied, “only it's a valuable tree out here. Th' Apaches use it a whole lot of ways. They get honey from th' blossoms an' glue an' gum, an' they use th' bark for tannin' hide. Th' dried pods an' leaves are used to feed their cattle, an' th' wood makes corrals to keep 'em in. They use th' wood for making other things, too, an' it is of two colors. Th' sap makes a dye what won't wash out, an' th' beans make a bread what won't sour or get hard. Then it makes a barrier that shore is a dandy-coyotes an' men can't get through it, an' it protects a whole lot of birds an' things. Th' snakes hate it like poison, for th' thorns get under their scales an' whoops things up for 'em. It keeps th' sand from shiftin', too. Down South where there is plenty of water, it often grows forty feet high, but up here it squats close to th' ground so it can save th' moisture. In th' night th' temperature sometimes falls thirty degrees, an' that helps it, too.”

“How can it live without water?” She asked.

“It gets all th' water it wants,” he replied, smiling. “Th' tap roots go straight down 'til they find it, sometimes fifty feet. That's why it don't shrivel up in th' sun. Then there are a lot of little roots right under it an' they protects th' tap roots. Th' shade it gives is th' coolest out here, for th' leaves turn with th' wind an' lets th' breeze through-they're hung on little stems.”

“How splendid!” she exclaimed. “Oh! Look there!” she cried, pointing ahead of them. A chaparral cock strutted from its decapitated enemy, a rattlesnake, and disappeared in the chaparral.

Hopalong laughed: “Mr. Scissors-bill Road-runner has great fun with snakes. He runs along th' sand-an' he can run, too—an' sees a snake takin' a siesta. Snip! goes his bill an' th' snake slides over th' Divide. Our fighting friend may stop some coyote's appetite before morning, though, unless he stays where he is.”

Just then a gray wolf blundered in sight a few rods ahead of them, and Hopalong fired instantly. His companion shrunk from him and looked at him reproachfully.

“Why did you do that!” she demanded.

“Why, because they costs us big money every year,” he replied. “There's a bounty on them because they pull down calves, an' sometimes full grown cows. I'm shore wonderin' why he got so close—they're usually just out of range, where they stays.”

“Promise me that you will shoot no more while I am with you.

“Why, shore: I didn't think yu'd care,” he replied. “Yu are like that sky-pilot over to Las Cruces—he preached agin killin' things, which is all right for him, who didn't have no cows.”

“Do you go to the missions?” She asked.