The Coming of Cassidy, Clarence E. Mulford [best free novels .txt] 📗

cursed and reached swiftly toward his vest pocket; but he stopped suddenly and contemplated the Colt that peeked over the edge of the table. It looked squarely at his short ribs and was backed by a sober, angry man who gazed steadily into his eyes. “Drop that hand,” said the puncher in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by the other over the noise of the piano. “I never did like them shoulder holsters I carry my irons where everybody can see ‘em.” Leaning forward swiftly he reached out his left hand and cautiously turned over the other’s cards. The fourth one was the king of hearts. “Don’t move,” he whispered, not wishing to have the bartender take a hand from behind. “An’ don’t talk,” he warned as he leaned farther forward and shoved his Colt against the other’s vest and with his left hand extracted a short-barreled gun from the sheath under the gambler’s armpit. Sinking back in his chair he listened a moment and, raking in the pot, stowed it away with the other winnings in his pockets.

The gambler stirred, but stopped as the Colt leaped like a flash of light to the edge of the table. “Tin-horn,” said the puncher, softly, “you ain’t slick enough. I didn’t stop you when you wanted that queen an’ ten because I wanted you to go on with th’ crookedness. Yaller cats is more unlucky to you than they are to me. But when I saw that last play I lost my temper; an’ I stopped you. Now if you’ll cheat with me, you’ll cheat with a drunk boy. So, havin’ cheated him, you really stole his money away from him. That bein’ so, you will dig up six month’s wages at about fifty per month. I’d shoot you just as quick as I’d shoot a snake; so don’t get no fool notions in yore head. Dig it right up.”

The gambler studied the man across from him, but after a moment he silently placed some money on the table. “It was only two forty,” he observed, holding to three double eagles. The puncher nodded: “I’ll take yore word for that. Now, in th’ beginnin’ I only wanted to get th’ boy his money; but when you started cheatin’ against me I changed my mind. I played fair. Now here’s your short-five,” he said as he slid the gun across the table. “Mebby you might want to use it sometime,” he smiled. “Now you vamoose; an’ if I see you in town after th’ next train leaves, I’ll make you use that shoulder holster. An’ tell yore friends that Hopalong Cassidy says, that for a country where men can tote their hardware in plain sight, a shoulder layout ain’t no good: you gotta reach too high. Adios.”

He watched the silent, philosophical man-ofcards walk slowly toward the door, upright, dignified and calm. Then he turned and approached the piano. “Sister,” he said, politely, “yore gamblin’ friend is leavin’ town on th’ next train. He has pressin’ business back east a couple of stations an’ wonders if you’ll join him at th’ depot in time for th’ next train.”

She had stopped playing and was staring at him in amazement. “Why didn’t he come an’ tell me himself, ‘stead of sneakin’ away an’ sendin’ you over?” she at last demanded, angrily.

“Well, he wanted to, but he saw a man an’ slipped out with his gun in his hand. Mebby there’ll be trouble; but I dunno. I’m just tellin’ you. Gee,” he laughed, looking at the snoring youth in the chair, “he got that quick. Why, I saw him less ‘n two hours ago an’ he was sober as a judge. Reckon I’ll take him over to th’ hotel an’ put him to bed.” He went over to the helpless Sammy, shook him and made him get on his feet. “Come along, Kid,” he said, slipping his arm under the sagging shoulder. “We’ll get along. Good-by, Sugar,” and, supporting the feebly protesting cub, he slowly made his way to the rear door and was gone, a grin wreathing his face as he heard the chink of gold coins in his several pockets.

XII SAMMY KNOWS THE GAME

A CLEAN-CUT, good-looking cowpuncher limped slightly as he passed the postoffice and found a seat on a box in front of the store next door. He sighed with relief and gazed cheerfully at the littered square as though it was something worth looking at. The night had not been a pleasant one because Sammy Porter had insisted upon either singing or snoring; and when breakfast was announced the youth almost had recovered his senses and was full of remorse and a raging thirst. Being flatly denied the hair of the dog that bit him he grew eloquently profane and very abusive. Hence Mr. Cassidy’s fondness for the box.

Sounds obtruded. They were husky and had dimensions and they came from the hotel bar. After increasing in volume and carrying power they were followed to the street by a disheveled youth who kicked open the door and blinked in the sunlight. Espying the contented individual on the box he shook an earnest fist at that person and tried next door. In a moment he followed a new burst of noise to the street and shook the other fist. Trying the saloon on the other side of the hotel without success he shook both fists and once again tried the hotel bar, where he proceeded along lines tactful, flattering and diplomatic. Only yesterday he had owned a gun, horse and other personal belongings; he had possessed plenty of money, a clear head and his sins sat lightly on his youthful soul. He still had the sins, but they had grown in weight. Tact availed him nothing, flattery was futile and diplomacy was in vain. To all his arguments the bartender sadly shook his head, not because Sammy had no money, which was the reason he gave, but because of vivid remembrance of the grimness with which a certain red-haired, straight-lipped, two-gun cowpuncher had made known his request. “Let him suffer,” had said the gunman. “It’ll be a good lesson for him.

Understand; not a drop!” And the bartender had understood. To the drink-dispenser’s refusal Sammy replied with a masterpiece of eloquence and during its delivery the bartender stood with his hand on a mallet, but too spellbound to throw it. Wheeling at the close of a vivid, soaring climax, Sammy yanked open the door again and stood transfixed with amazement and hostile envy. His new and officious friend surely knew the right system with women. To the burning indignities of the morning this added the last straw and Sammy bitterly resolved not to forget his wrongs.

Had Mr. Cassidy been a kitten he would have purred with delight as he watched his youthful friend’s vain search for the hair of the dog, and his grin was threatening to engulf his ears when the Cub slammed into the hotel. Hearing the beating of hoofs he glanced around and saw a trim, pretty young lady astride a trim, highspirited pony; and both were thoroughbreds if he was any judge. They bore down upon him at a smart lope and stopped at the edge of the walk. The rider leaped from the saddle and ran toward him with her hand outstretched and her face aglow with a delighted surprise. Her eyes fairly danced with welcome and relief and her cheeks, reddened by the thrust of the wind for more than twenty miles, flamed a deeper red, through which streaks of creamy white played fascinatingly. “Dick Ellsworth!” she cried. “When did you get here?”

Mr. Cassidy stumbled to his feet, one hand instinctively going out to the one held out to him, the other fiercely gripping his sombrero. His face flamed under its tan and he mumbled an incoherent reply.

“Don’t you remember me?” she chided, a roguish, half-serious expression flashing over her countenance. “Not little Annie, whom you taught to ride? I used to think I needed you then, Dick; but oh, how I need you now. It’s Providence, nothing else, that sent you. Father’s gone steadily worse and now all he cares for is a bottle. Joe, the new foreman, has full charge of everything and he’s not only robbing us right and left, but he’s he’s bothering me! When I complain to father of his attentions all I get is a foolish grin. If you only knew how I have prayed for you to come back, Dick! Two bitter years of it. But now everything is all right. Tell me about yourself while I get the mail and then we’ll ride home together. I suppose Joe will be waiting for me somewhere on the trail; he usually does. Did you ever hate anyone so much you wanted to kill him?” she demanded fiercely, beside herself for the moment.

Hopalong nodded. “Well, yes; I have,” he answered. “But you mustn’t. What’s his name? We’ll have to look into this.”

“Joe Worth; but let’s forget him for awhile,” she smiled. “I’ll get the mail while you go after your horse.”

He nodded and watched her enter the postoffice and then turned and walked thoughtfully away. She was mounted when he returned and they swung out of the town at a lope.

“Where have you been, and what have you been doing?” she asked as they pushed along the firm, hard trail.

“Punchin’ for th’ Bar-20, southwest of here. I wouldn’t ‘a’ been here today only I let th’ outfit ride on without me. We just got back from Kansas City a couple of days back. But let’s get at this here Joe Worth prop’sition. I’m plumb curious. How long’s he been pesterin’ you?”

“Nearly two years I can’t stand it much longer.”

“An’ th’ outfit don’t cut in?”

“They’re his friends, and they understand that father wants it so. You’ll not know father, Dick: I never thought a man could change so. Mother’s death broke him as though he were a reed.”

“Hum!” he grunted. “You ain’t carin’ how this coyote is stopped, just so he is?”

“No!” she flashed.

“An’ he’ll be waitin’ for you?”

“He usually is.”

He grinned. “Le’s hope he is this time.”

He was silent a moment and looked at her curiously. “I don’t know how you’ll take it, but I got a surprise for you a big one. I’m shore sorry to admit it, but I ain’t th’ man you think. I ain’t Dick What ‘s-his-name, though it shore ain’t my fault. I reckon I must look a heap like him; an’ I hope I can act like him in this here matter. I want to see it through like Tie would. I can do as good a job, too. But it ain’t nowise fair nor right to pretend I’m him. I ain’t.”

She was staring at him in a way he did not like. “Not Dick Ellsworth!” she gasped. “You are not Dick?”

“I’m shore sorry but I’d like to play his cards. I’m honin’ for to see this here Joe Worth,” he nodded, cheerfully.

“And you let me believe you were?” she demanded coldly. “You deliberately led me to talk as I did?”

“Well, now; I didn’t just know what to do. You shore was in trouble, which was bad. I reckoned mebby I could get you out of it an’ then go along ‘bout my business. You ain’t goin’ to stop me a-doin’ it, are you?” he asked anxiously.

Her reply was a slow, contemptuous look that missed nothing and that left nothing to be said. Her horse did not like to stand, anyway, and sprang eagerly forward in answer to the sudden pressure of her knees. She rode the high-strung bay with superb art, angry, defiant, and erect as a statue. Hopalong, shaking his head slowly, gazed after her and when