CHAPTER XXIII
HOPALONG'S MOVE
Hopalong, nursing Allday with due regard to the miles yet to betravelled, was disagreeably surprised to recognize Cock Murray in thehorseman approaching. The explanation offered did not improve histemper. He turned on Murray a hard stare that was less a probe than anexponent of destruction to a liar. There was that about Hopalong whichspelled danger; no strong man is without it; and few men, honest or not,fail of the impression when in the presence of it. Cock Murray was nocoward. He was distinctly not afraid to meet death at a moment's noticeor with no notice at all, if it came that way; yet he was grateful to beable to face that stare with an honest purpose in his heart.
"Murray, down Texas way h--l-raisin' on a range means sudden death.It's a-goin' to stop on th' Double Y. Which side are you on?"
"If it depends on my say-so, th' Double Y is as peaceful as a' Easterndairy from this out."
"Let 'er go at that. How 's that cayuse?"
"Good, an' fresh as paint. I on'y breathed him, comin' from Twin."
"Swap. This bay has come along right smart for twenty miles. I ain'tgoin' to lose you much, either. Th' boys is after us but they won'tcatch you."
Hopalong was well past the Sweet-Echo before the pinto was recognized.Slick let out a yell of surprise. The Cyclone puncher sauntered to thewindow, where Slick was pointing, glanced up the trail and laughed."That's a friend o' Buck's," he explained, "an' he 's certainly aimin'to get there, wherever it is, as quick as he can."
"Ain't that yore pinto?" queried Slick.
"Less 'n I 'm blind," agreed the cow-punch.
"Seems to me there's a lot o' swappin' goin' on som'ers along th' BigMoose," hazarded Slick. "Which they can't _all_ be backin' winners," headded, thoughtfully.
They were still seeking light in useless discussion when thelong-striding Allday went past. Slick shouted to Murray for news butCock waved his hand without speaking. Twin River was beginning to showa languid interest. Day-and-night _habitues_ of the I-Call lounged outinto the open and gazed after Cock inquiringly, irritated Pop Snow intoa frantic change of base by their apparently earnest belief in hisknowledge of these events and their demands for information, and loungedback again; Dutch Fred soothed the peevish old man by talking "like hehad some sense"; having sense proved an asset once more as Dirty, no onebeing near, suddenly discovered a thirst. Ike, wise old wolf, thoughunable to solve the riddle, smelled a killing. "Stay around," headvised several of his own trustworthy satellites. Little Nell alone,who looked on and read as the others ran, came near to supplying themissing print: "The French Rose has shook Dave," she decided. "Dave haspulled his freight and the Double Y is on the prod after him. Smilerought to show for place but the minute he looks like a winner the Texan'll pump him full of lead. The Double Y will win out. Maybe Ned--"Little Nell's wild heart had regretted bluff, kindly Ned, these manydays.
The passing of the Double Y punchers, strung out half a mile, confirmedNell's guess. The Cyclone puncher, hurriedly throwing the leather onthe Goat, loped along beside Slow Jack, the last in the string,obtaining from him such meagre information as only whetted hiscuriosity. He returned to the Sweet-Echo and Slick, disdaining to replyto the I-Call loungers. Ike was too wise to risk a rebuff; he alreadyknew enough from what he had seen. "Pickin's, boys," was his laconiccomment; and soon a company of five Autolycus-minded gentlemen took theBig Moose trail, openly. The break-up of this chance foray was largelydue to the simple matter of direction.
Hopalong, knowing nothing of the wagging tongues at Twin River, drovethe pinto for every ounce there was in him. A vague uneasiness, risenwith the delivery of Buck's message by Cock Murray, rode with Hopalong;he could not shake it off. Ten minutes beyond Two Fork he saw thebuckboard and the curse in his throat had its origin in a conviction asaccurate as Whitby's had been. He turned and rode beside them. "Well,they got you, Buck," was his quiet comment.
"Shore did," admitted Buck. "Ambushed at four hundred--first shot--badmedicine. I lit a-runnin' an' caves in just as th' next ball drops th'bronc. I lays most mighty still. He thinks I kicked th' bucket but he's afraid to find out. I was hopin' he 'd come to see. He gets awayquiet an' I lay an' bleed a-waitin' for him. Rose an' Whit here wakesme out of a sweet dream." He smiled up at Rose whose anxiety wasevident.
"Too much talk," she warned him.
"Dave?" asked Hopalong, looking at Whitby, who nodded.
"How far?"
"Two miles; possibly less," answered Whitby.
"I 'll get him," said Hopalong, with quiet certitude. "So long, Buck."
"So long, Hoppy. Go with him, Whit. Can't afford another ambush."
"Very well, Buck. You will find a medicine-chest in my kit, MissMcAllister."
Whitby turned and rode hard after Hopalong who, nevertheless, arrived atthe dead pony considerably in advance, and after a searching lookaround, rode straight to the ambush. The signs of its recent occupancywere plain to be seen. Hopalong got down and squatted under cover asDave must have done, from which position his shrewd mind deduced thecause of the poor shot: a swinging limb, which had deflected the bulletat the critical moment. The signs showed Dave had led his horse fromthe spot, finally mounting and riding off in a direction well to theeast of Wayback. Minute after minute Hopalong tracked at a slow canter;suddenly his pony sprang forward with a rush: even to the Englishman'sinexperienced eyes there was evidence of Dave having gone faster; verymuch faster, Whitby thought, as he rode his best to hold the pace,wondering meanwhile, how it was possible to track at such speed. It wasn't possible: Dave had set a straight line for Wayback and gone off likea jack rabbit. Hopalong was simply backing his guess.
Exhaustive inquiries in Wayback seemed to show that Hoppy had guessedwrong. No one had seen Dave. No one had seen Schatz, either; the bankpresident had gone to Helena and his single clerk, single in a doublesense, was an unknown number of miles distant on a journey in courtship.The station agent declared Dave had neither purchased a ticket nor takenany train from the Wayback station. Whitby became downcast butHopalong, with each fruitless inquiry, gathered cheerfulness almost toloquacity. It was his way. "Cheer up, Whit," he encouraged: "I'd 'a'been punchin' cows an' dodgin' Injuns in th' Happy Hunting Groundsbefore I could rope a yearlin' if I 'd allus give up when I was beat."
Whitby looked at him gloomily. "I 'm fair stumped," he admitted. "D'you think, now, it would be wisdom to go back and follow his spoor?"
"Spoor is good. He came to Wayback, Whit, sure as yo 're a bloomin'Britisher. Keep a-lookin' at me, now: There 's a bum over by th'barber's has been watchin' us earnest ever since we hit town; he 'sstuck to us like a shadow; see if you know him. Easy, now. Don't scarehim off."
Whitby won his way into Hopalong's heart by the simplicity of hismanoeuvre. Taking from his lips the cigar he was smoking, he waved itin the general direction of the station. "You said a bum near thebarber-shop," he repeated. His pony suddenly leaped into the air andmanifested an inexplicable and exuberant interest in life. Whenquieted, Whitby was facing the barber's and carefully examining the bum.Hopalong chuckled through serious lips. Whitby had allowed the hot endof his cigar to come in contact with the pony's hide. "No, can't say Ido; but he evidently knows me. Dashed if he does n't want me to followhim," and Whitby looked his astonishment.
Hopalong's eyes sparkled. "Get a-goin', Whit. Here's where ye call th'turn. What'd I tell you?" He wheeled and rode back to the station.Whitby followed the shambling figure down the street and around thecorner of a saloon, where he discovered him sunning himself on a heap ofrubbish, in the rear.
"Well, my man; what is it?" asked Whitby.
The crisp, incisive tones brought him up standing; he saluted and cameforward eagerly. "Youse lookin' f'r Dave?" he responded.
"What of it?"
"I seen him jump d' train down by d' pens. She wuz goin'hell-bent-f'r-election, too. Wen Dave jumps,
I drops. Dave an' medon't pal."
"Why not?"
"Didn't he git me run out o' Twin? Youse was dere. Don'tcher 'memberPickles an' Dutch Onion--Pickles' old man--an' dat Come Seven guy w'atstopped d' row? Don'tcher?"
"Yes; I do. Are you the man who shied the bottle?"
"Ke-rect. I 'd done f'r him, too, but dey put d' ki-bosh on me."
"And are you sure it was Dave? Did the train stop?"
"Stop nothin'! 'T was a string o' empties. Dave jumped it, all right.An' I 'd hoof it all d' way to Sante Fe to see him swing."
"Deuced good sentiment, by Jove. Here, you need--well, a number ofthings, don't you know."
Boomerang gazed after the departing Englishman and blinked rapidly atthe bill in his hand. Did he or did he not see a zero following thattwo? With a fervent prayer for sanity he carefully tucked it out ofsight.
Whitby returned to Hopalong as much elated as previously he had beencast down. "We have the bally blackguard," was his glad assurance.
"Where?" asked Hopalong; "in yore pocket, or yore hat, or only in yoremind." Whitby explained and Hopalong promptly appealed to the stationagent.
It was a weary wait. Whitby, a patient man himself, found occasion toadmire the motionless relaxation of Hopalong, who appeared to be storingenergy until such time as he would require it. To Whitby, who was wellacquainted with the jungle of India, it was the inertia of the tiger,waiting for the dusk.
The station door opened again but this time with a snappier purpose thatseemed promising. Whitby turned his head. The railroader nodded as onewell satisfied with himself. "Got your man," he announced, with a grinof congratulation. "He dropped off at X----. Don't seem a whole lotscared. Took a room at th' hotel. Goin' to turn him over to thesheriff?"
"No," answered Hopalong, "an' I don't want nothin' to get out here,_sabe_? If it does, yo 're th' huckleberry. When 's th' next trainEast?"
"It's past due, but it 'll be along in twenty minutes."
"I 'll take a ticket," and Hopalong rose to his feet and followed himinto the station. He returned shortly, to apologize for leaving Whitbybehind. "I know you 'd like to go, Whit, but you ought to find outabout that money. Better stay here an' see them bank people in th'mornin'."
Whitby acknowledged the wisdom of this and agreed to call on Buck atJean's on his way back to the ranch. "You tell Buck Dave is at X----,"said Hoppy. "An' that's where he stays," he added, grimly. "Here shecomes."
Long before this, the usual crowd of idlers had gathered; and now therest of Wayback began to ooze into the road and toward the station. Asthe train drew in it attracted even a half-shaved man from the barber's,hastily wiping the soap from his face as he ran; after him came thebarber, closing the razor and sticking it in his pocket. The first manoff the cars was a fox-faced little hunchback, whose deformity in no waydetracted from his agile strength; after him, with studied carelessness,came Tex. Hopalong grunted, turned his head as the clatter of hoofssounded through the turmoil, and signalled Chesty Sutton, first man ofthe rapidly arriving Double Y punchers.
"Don't you stray none, screech-owl, or I 'll drop you," he warned thecaptive, who shot one impish glance at the speaker and froze in histracks. "Chesty, tell Ned to take this coyote to th' ranch, an' don'tlet him get away, not if you has to shoot him."
"Hold hard, stranger. He looks mighty like Big Saxe to me, an' if heis, I wants him. I got a warrant for him in my clo'es." The deputysheriff started forward.
"Wait!" commanded Hopalong. The deputy waited. "Tex, hold that train.You an' me are goin' th' same way. Mr. Sheriff, I got a warrant aheado' yourn an' I wants him. You 'll find him at th' Double Y ranch when Igets through with him."
Slow Jack, the last of the Double Y punchers, loped up to the station,swung from his saddle and joined the interested group surrounding thedisputants.
"If that's Big Saxe I wants him now an' I 'm goin' to take him."
"Don't you, son." Kind as Hopalong's tone sounded, the deputy haltedagain. "Bow-Wow, hit th' trail an' have eyes in th' back of yore head.Straddle, boys." The crowd scattered as the mounted punchers movedtheir ponies about, to open a clear space. Hopalong met the eye of thehunchback, whose clear, shrewd glance recognized the master of themoment. "Screechy! that pinto 's a-waitin' for you an' if anyson-of-a-gun gets there first, _you_ won't need no bracelets. Git!"
Struggling between indecision and duty, the deputy saw the group ofpunchers, the pinto in advance, turn into the Twin River trail. "Lookyhere!" he began fiercely to Hopalong, "'pears to me--"
"Bah! Tell it to Schatz"; and Hopalong sprang up the steps, followed byTex, to the outspoken regret of Wayback's citizens there assembled.
Buck Peters, Ranchman Page 23
