Bar-20 Days by Clarence Edward Mulford (new reading TXT) 📗
- Author: Clarence Edward Mulford
Book online «Bar-20 Days by Clarence Edward Mulford (new reading TXT) 📗». Author Clarence Edward Mulford
“I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?” replied Hopalong, very calmly,—so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion.
“Well, why didn't you go around?”
“Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the dark.”
“Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up for the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. You can't stampede through the other fence.”
“That so?” asked Hopalong.
“Reckon it is.”
“Yo're real shore it is?”
“Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can get blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right.”
“Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two hoss-wranglers an' a cook to come,” retorted Hopalong, kicking the belligerent Johnny on the shins. “We're just about mad enough to tackle anything: ever feel that way?”
“Oh, no use getting all het up,” rejoined Cranky Joe. “We ain't a-going to fight 'less we has to. Better pay up.”
“Send yore bills to the ranch—if they're O. K., Buck'll pay 'em.”
“Nix; I take it when I can get it.”
“I ain't got no money with me that I can spare.”
“Then you can leave enough cows to buy back again.”
“I'm not going to pay you one damned cent, an' the only cows I'll leave are the dead ones—an' if I could take them with me I'd do it. An' I'm not going around the fence, neither.”
“Oh, yes; you are. An' yo're going to pay,” snapped Cranky Joe.
“Take it out of the price of two hundred dead cows an' gimme what's left,” Hopalong retorted. “It'll cost you nine of them twelve men to pry it out'n me.”
“You won't pay?” demanded the other, coldly.
“Not a plugged peso.”
“Well, as I said before, I don't want to fight nobody 'less I has to,” replied Cranky Joe. “I'll give you a chance to change yore mind. We'll be out here after it to-morrow, cash or cows. That'll give you twenty-four hours to rest yore herd an' get ready to drive. Then you pay, an' go back, 'round the fence.”
“All right; to-morrow suits me,” responded Hopalong, who was boiling with rage and felt constrained to hold it back. If it wasn't for the cows—!
Red and three companions swept up and stopped in a swirl of dust and asked questions until Hopalong shut them up. Their arrival and the manner of their speech riled Cranky Joe, who turned around and loosed one more remark; and he never knew how near to death he was at that moment.
“You fellers must own the earth, the way you act,” he said to Red and his three companions.
“We ain't fencing it in to prove it,” rejoined Hopalong, his hand on Red's arm.
Cranky Joe wheeled to rejoin his friends. “To-morrow,” he said, significantly.
Hopalong and his men watched the six ride away, too enraged to speak for a moment. Then the drive foreman mastered himself and turned to Hawkins. “Where's their ranch house?” he demanded, sharply. “There must be some way out of this, an' we've got to find it; an' before to-morrow.”
“West; three hours' ride along the fence. I could find 'em the darkest night what ever happened; I was out there once,” Hawkins replied.
“Describe 'em as exact as you can,” demanded Hopalong, and when Hawkins had done so the Bar-20 drive foreman slapped his thigh and laughed nastily. “One house with one door an' only two windows—are you shore? Good! Where's the corrals? Good again! So they'll take pay for their blasted fence, eh? Cash or cows, hey! Don't want no fight 'less it's necessary, but they're going to make us pay for the fence that killed two hundred head, an' blamed nigh got us, too. An' half a cent a head for drinking water! I've paid that more'n once—some of the poor devils squatting on the range ain't got nothing to sell but water, but I don't buy none out of Bennett's Creek! Pete, you mounted fellers round up a little—bunch the herd a little closer, an' drive straight along the trail towards that other fence. We'll all help you as soon as the wranglers bring us up something to ride. Push 'em hard, limp or no limp, till dark. They'll be too tired to go crow-hopping 'round any in the dark to-night. An' say! When you see that bummer, if he wasn't got by the fence, drop him clean. So they've got twelve men, hey! Huh!”
“What you going to do?” asked Red, beginning to cool down, and very curious.
“Yes; tell us,” urged Johnny.
“Why, I'm going to cut that fence, an' cut it all to hell. Then I'm going to push the herd through it as far out of danger as I can. When they're all right Cookie an' the hoss-wranglers will have to hold 'em during the night while we do the rest.”
“What's the rest?” demanded Johnny.
“Oh, I'll tell you that later; it can wait,” replied Hopalong. “Meanwhile, you get out there with Pete an' help get the herd in shape. We'll be with you soon—here comes the wranglers an' the cavvieyeh. 'Bout time, too.”
CHAPTER XXII MR. BOGGS IS DISGUSTED
The herd gained twelve miles by dark and would pass through the northern fence by noon of the next day, for Cook's axe and monkey wrench had been put to good use. For quite a distance there was no fence: about a mile of barb wire had been pulled loose and was tangled up into several large piles, while rings of burned grass and ashes surrounded what was left of the posts. The cook had embraced this opportunity to lay in a good supply of firewood and was the happiest man in the outfit.
At ten o'clock that night eight figures loped westward along the southern fence and three hours later dismounted near the first corral of the 4X ranch. They put their horses in a depression on the plain and then hastened to seek cover, being careful to make no noise.
At dawn the door of the bunk house opened quickly and as quickly slammed shut again, three bullets in it being the reason. An uproar ensued and guns spat from the two windows in the general direction of the unseen besiegers, who did not bother about replying; they had given notification of their presence and until it was necessary to shoot there was no earthly use
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