Hopalong Cassidys Rustler Round-Up | Page 6

a two hundred and forty pound half-breed squaw an'
then try to lay it onter me! When I proposed drownin' yore troubles
over at Cowan's, yu went an' got mad over what yu called th'
insinooation. An' yu shore didn't look any too blamed fine, neither."
"All th' same," volunteered Thompson, who had taken the edge from
his appetite, "we better go over an' pay C 80 a call. I don't like what
Shorty said about saltin' our cattle. He'll shore do it, unless I camps on
th' line, which same I hain't hankerin' after."
"Oh, he wouldn't stop th' cows that way, Skinny; he was only afoolin',"
exclaimed Connors meekly.
"Foolin' yore gran'mother! That there bunch'll do anything if we wasn't
lookin'," hotly replied Skinny.
"That's shore nuff gospel, Thomp. They's sore fer mor'n one thing.
They got aplenty when Buck went on th' warpath, an they's hankerin' to
git square," remarked Johnny Nelson, stealing the pie, a rare treat, of
his neighbor when that unfortunate individual was not looking. He had
it halfway to his mouth when its former owner, Jimmy Price, a boy of
eighteen, turned his head and saw it going.
"Hi-yi! Yu clay-bank coyote, drap thet pie! Did yu ever see such a
son-of-a-gun fer pie?" he plaintively asked Red Connors, as he grabbed
a mighty handful of apples and crust. "Pie'll kill yu some day, yu
bob-tailed jack! I had an uncle that died onct. He et too much pie an' he
went an' turned green, an so'll yu if yu don't let it alone."
"Yu ought'r seed th' pie Johnny had down in Eagle Flat," murmured
Lanky Smith reminiscently. "She had feet that'd stop a stampede.
Johnny was shore loco about her. Swore she was the finest blossom

that ever growed." Here he choked and tears of laughter coursed down
his weather-beaten face as he pictured her. "She was a dainty Mexican,
about fifteen han's high an' about sixteen han's around. Johnny used to
chalk off when he hugged her, usen't yu, Johnny? One night when he
had got purty well around on th' second lap he run inter a feller jest
startin' out on his fust. They hain't caught that Mexican yet."
Nelson was pelted with everything in sight. He slowly wiped off the pie
crust and bread and potatoes. "Anybody'd think I was a busted grub
wagon," he grumbled. When he had fished the last piece of beef out of
his ear he went out and offered to stand treat. As the round-up was over,
they slid into their saddles and raced for Cowan's saloon at Buckskin.


CHAPTER II
The Rashness of Shorty
Buckskin was very hot; in fact it was never anything else. Few people
were on the streets and the town was quiet. Over in the Houston hotel a
crowd of cowboys was lounging in the barroom. They were very
quiet-a condition as rare as it was ominous. Their mounts, twelve in all,
were switching flies from their quivering skins in the corral at the rear.
Eight of these had a large C 80 branded on their flanks; the other four, a
Double Arrow.
In the barroom a slim, wiry man was looking out of the dirty window
up the street at Cowan's saloon. Shorty was complaining, "They shore
oughter be here now. They rounded up last week." The man nearest
assured him that they would come. The man at the window turned and
said, "They's yer now.

In front of Cowan's a crowd of nine happy-go-lucky, daredevil riders
were sliding from their saddles. They threw their reins over the heads

of their mounts and filed in to the bar. Laughter issued from the open
door and the clink of glasses could be heard. They stood in picturesque
groups, strong, self-reliant, humorous, virile. Their expensive
sombreros were pushed far back on their heads and their hairy chaps
were covered with the alkali dust from their ride.
Cowan, bottle in hand, pushed out several more glasses. He kicked a
dog from under his feet and looked at Buck. "Rounded up yet?" he
inquired.
"Shore, day afore yisterday," came the reply. The rest were busy
removing the dust from their throats, and gradually drifted into groups
of two or three. One of these groups strolled over to the solitary card
table, and found Jimmy Price resting in a cheap chair, his legs on the
table.
"I wisht yu'd extricate yore delicate feet from off'n this hyar table,
James," humbly requested Lanky Smith, morally backed up by those
with him.
"Ya-as, they shore is delicate, Mr. Smith," responded Jimmy without
moving.
"We wants to play draw, Jimmy," explained Pete.
"Yore shore welcome to play if yu wants to. Didn't I tell yu when yu
growed that mustache that yu didn't have