"Your husband?" Joe Gamble was startled. None of them had any idea Sue Gibson had been married, let alone that she was a widow.
"Yes, I was married to Luke Potter. After he died I started using my own name again, as Dad wanted me to. Luke was a fine man."
Back out on the store porch Gamble shook his head and smiled to himself. Women were always a surprise, he thought. It was best, he realized, never to think you had a handle on one of them, because you were always sure to be wrong.
At the bar, over whiskey, the three owlhoots had reached some conclusions. "He smelled somethin', that's what. He's up in those hills somewheres now, scoutin' for Connors."
"Maybe he's found him already." Grat was thinking of the gray horse that Hoyt had been riding ... the one that was still missing.
Sim Aragon downed his whiskey and shoved back in his chair. "You tell Jack he needn't worry about Cassidy. I'll pick
"Grat? Oh! Why, not much of anything! He just said he thought Red had gone on out of the country, and I told him that wouldn't be true because Red knew Hopalong Cassidy was coming up to meet him."
"Cassidy?" Joe stared at her, an idea slowly forming in his brain. "Now what do you know about that?"
"Why do you ask, Joe? What happened?"
"Why, Grat seemed plumb upset about something, and then that Bones feller come in ridin' with Sim Aragon, and he couldn't get to them fast enough to tell 'em. Then Bones told Grat somethin' and he fell to cussin' somethin' awful. I reckon," he added, "I'm makin' a lot out of nothin', but it doesn't look right, and them with Aragon, too."
"No," Sue replied slowly, "it doesn't."
Sue looked at Joe. She knew the man by sight and had even danced with him once at a social. Joe Gamble rode for the 3F outfit. He was an honest, hard-working man and a top hand. "Joe," she asked suddenly, "have you lost any cattle lately?"
It was his turn to look sharply at her, his eyes suddenly alert. "We sure have, ma'am. Hard to say how many, but some."
"So have we. Red thought he had found a trail that morning he rode off. He said nothing to anyone else and told me not to tell Dad--it might worry him. He said he would follow it up, then come back. That was days ago, and there has been no sign of him since."
Joe Gamble absorbed that slowly. He frowned at his boot toes. It was all vague and made no sense. None of them really knew they had lost cattle, and it might be they were heading into higher country where there was more water and the grass was greener. It could be. Still, when a man has been on the range for years he comes to the point where he can judge the
number of cattle very well, and he was positive they were losing stock. Now Sue Gibson said Red had had the same suspicion. How about the others? It would do no harm to ask around.
"May be nothin' to it," he commented then, "but if this here Hopalong shows up, let me know, will you? I may," he added, "scout around and try to pick up Red's trail. He seemed like a right nice feller."
"We--Dad, I mean--have known Red Connors for a long time, and Hopalong, too. They drove herds over the trail together. They were together when my husband was killed."
"Your husband?" Joe Gamble was startled. None of them had any idea Sue Gibson had been married, let alone that she was a widow.
"Yes, I was married to Luke Potter. After he died I started using my own name again, as Dad wanted me to. Luke was a fine man."
Back out on the store porch Gamble shook his head and smiled to himself. Women were always a surprise, he thought. It was best, he realized, never to think you had a handle on one of them, because you were always sure to be wrong.
At the bar, over whiskey, the three owlhoots had reached some conclusions. "He smelled somethin', that's what. He's up in those hills somewheres now, scoutin' for Connors."
"Maybe he's found him already." Grat was thinking of the gray horse that Hoyt had been riding . . . the one that was still missing.
Sim Aragon downed his whiskey and shoved back in his chair. "You tell Jack he needn't worry about Cassidy. I'll pick
up my outfit and we'll go through them hills so careful we could find any rabbit and squirrel in the place. We'll find those two, and when we do, Jack's trouble regardin' them'll be over."
After Sim was gone, Grat looked across the table at Bones. He shook his head. "Too good to last! I knowed it. I hate to tell Jack. He'll raise the roof."
Bones looked like a soiled cupid, his round face heavy with knowledge of a chance lost. "That musta been Cassidy we seen at White Rock. We could've bushed him," he said, "if we knowed."
Chapter 5
Ranch Spy.
Copper Mountain's Cave was exactly where Letsinger had advised Hoppy. It was after dark when Red Connors and he made it, but once at the mouth, Hopalong took time to investigate the terrain as thoroughly as possible. The cave was big, and pack rats had dragged in huge piles of dead brush to make nests. They offered a good supply of kindling.
When he had a fire going and Red was bedded down, Hopalong examined his friend's wound. It looked bad, and obviously the long day's ride had done it no good at all. After bathing the wound and dressing it once more, Hopalong returned to the fire and got busy with supper. The horses had been unsaddled and picketed on grass in the nearby woods. The grass was thick, and as little game and no stock came up this high, it was undisturbed. The fire was well back into the cave, and the mouth was concealed anyway by the wall formed by the stand of trees.
"Gibson's the only one who's been very suspicious of Bolt, and he may be wrong," Red offered suddenly. "Until I followed this trail, there was no evidence of any kind against him. It might be just that Aragon outfit."
"Heard of them. Three of 'em, aren't there?"
"Uh-huh. And they got three or four gents ridin' with 'em. Rough crowd. Reminds me of that bunch Nevady had down south, that time. Sim's the boss. He's a long, thin galoot who fancies himself with a gun. He's purty good, too. Pete and Manuel are the other two. Both of 'em plumb salty."
"They run with the Bolt outfit?"
"Not so's you'd notice. Nobody likes the Aragons. Poison mean. They'd as soon shoot you as look at you."
"Red," Hopalong said as they were eating, "there's grub enough here for several days. You've got plenty of firewood without moving to get it, and your horse will do all right on that grass. There's water back in the cave, and I notice that there's some rain in a pool outside that'll do your cayuse."
"All of which means you're pullin' your freight?" Red grinned at him. "Shucks, Hoppy, hit the trail! I can get along, and Gibson will be needin' help."
"Well, I think you'll be all right," Hopalong said. "At least until I can get back or send someone for you."
Rolling up in his blankets, Hopalong tried to get to sleep. Red Connors stared at him and grinned. Not for the world would he have hinted to his old friend how good it was to have him back, but now there would be little to worry about, for the famous gunman could always, in his experience, outfigure and outshoot anybody who came along the pike. With the first sense of comfort he had felt in days, Red Connors stretched out and was soon asleep. When he awakened, the first gray of day was appearing far off over the mountains. Hopalong Cas-sidy was already gone.
Before Hopalong lay a vast sweep of sunken gorges and towering peaks, most of them timber-clad, but gradually growing less so towards the west until, near the area where the 3TL lay, the hills were almost without a tree. That country to the west was barren and showed no sign of water, yet Hopalong knew it was there--if a man knew how to find it.
Below him all was dark and still. The stars were bright overhead, and the hint of dawn lay along the sky far away, a thin spreading gray in the east. The palouse took to the trail with ears pricked up, eager to be going. Angling across the mountain, Hopalong found a way into the forest and slowly worked his way farther and farther down the slope. Tascotal lay off to the south and west, but he intended to hold to the wilder country as long as he could before breaking into the open where he might be seen.
; The 3TL lay in a corner of the hills and among a pleasant grove of cottonwood. There were the usual scattered outbuildings, in better shape than most, several corrals, and a green patch that might be a lawn. Nearer, Hopalong saw that it was not only a lawn but there were flowers. He dismounted, wanting to look around before he went inside, but there was no chance of that. There was a call from the door, and he turned to see a girl waving from the steps. Her hair caught the morning sun and gleamed red and gold. For an instant Hopalong's cold blue eyes lit, and then he dropped the reins of his palouse, who promptly walked off towards the watering trough, and strode towards the girl.
Her eyes bright with curiosity, she looked up at this man of whom she had heard so much. In Texas, as a little girl, she had heard of him and of the fabled Bar 20 and the Double Y, which succeeded it as the hangout of the old Bar 20 outfit. She saw the weather-beaten face, the sloping shoulders, his friendly
smile, and then her eyes fell to the two bone-handled Colts tied down to his legs. These guns had killed more than one man.
"Hoppy?" she asked expectantly. "You are Hopalong, aren't you?"
"Sure am! And you're Sue Gibson--or is it Potter?"
"Gibson. Did you know Luke?"
"Never did." He did not say that he had seen him once; Luke Potter had been lying trampled in the mud beside his saddle. The girth had broken when he was trying to head off a stampede. "Your dad getting along all right?"
"Yes, he's dying to see you, Hoppy! He's done nothing but talk about you since he first heard you were coming." She looked up quickly. "Red's not here. He rode off and hasn't come back."
"I know. I've seen him."
A stumpy rider with a deep chest who lounged in the shade of the blacksmith shop got up quickly and walked towards his horse. He swung into the saddle and started off. After a moment Hopalong heard the sound of the horse beginning to run. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes straying towards the sound. "How many of your boys here now?" he asked.
"Why, only two!" Sue was surprised. "Frank Gillespie and Pod Griffin. Why do you ask?"
"Been with you long?"
"Frank has. He rode in here with Dad. He was with him on that same drive where you met Father. Pod? Well, he's been with us three or four months, maybe a little more."
"Go find out if they are still there, will you, ma'am? As a favor to me?" He smiled. "I think Pod will be gone off some-wheres."
She started away from him, and removing his hat, Hopalong shoved his damp white hair back from his brow and started into the house, where Gibson was calling him.
The older man was propped up in bed, a big man with a kindly face topped off with bristly gray hair. His smile was wide. "Hoppy! You old son of a gun! Sure is good to see
yuh!"
"Better than last time?" Hopalong chuckled. "Last time I remember you figured maybe I was lyin' to you about having my herd sold."
Gibson chuckled. "Well, wouldn't you have been suspicious? That story sounded mighty old. Just the same, tough as they was, I'd like to take a herd over that trail again!"
"You wouldn't like it now." Hopalong dropped into a chair. "Fact is, she's almost gone. Too many fences. An hombre was plowing up a field sixty miles north of Doan's Crossin' last time I come through. First time I ever saw that country was over the sights of a Sharps with Injuns coming a-whooping. She sure has changed."
Sue came in and paused in the door. "Pod's rode off somewhere," she said, looking curiously at Hopalong. "How did you know?"
"Read it in my crystal ball." He smiled. "I reckon he's gone off to tell somebody I'm here. Somebody who's rustling cows."
"Oh, no!" Sue objected. "Not Pod!"
Hopalong shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I'd be mighty curious why else a man races out of here this time of day running his horse, and just after I arrived. Looks strange to me."
"He's sort of peculiar, that one," Gibson admitted. "Acts like he was raised on sour milk."
Briefly, then, Hopalong covered the events of his arrival at Tascotal, and his earlier meeting with Slim and Bones at White Rock Wells, and how they had mistaken him for a man they
were hunting. Their further comments had led him to believe that that man was Red Connors.
"You eat yet?" Gibson asked. "Fix him somethin', Sue. Cook's gone to town," he added, "buyin' supplies."
Sue led the way to the kitchen and got down some cold beef, beans, and some biscuits. "They are huckydummy," she said. "But if I catch you picking the raisins out and eating them without bread, I'll scorch you!"
Hopalong grinned. "Easy to tell you were raised on a cow ranch," he said. "That's an old trick."
"Not on this ranch it isn't!" Sue was positive. Then she turned to the cupboard and took out a large apple pie cut in four pieces. "I don't suppose you could eat more than two pieces of this pie?"
"Well"--he studied the pie seriously--"I don't know, but I doubt if I could eat less."
"If you want more than that you'll fight Dad for his share." She winked at Hoppy.
"I'll just have to make do." Hopalong grinned. "Although, since we've got a sick man here, I don't know that he'll have enough appetite for that other half."
"You just watch me, Cassidy! You just watch!"
They all laughed, but then Hopalong became serious. "Is there someone you could send up to Copper Mountain to check on Red? He's a tough old bird but I'm worried about him." Gibson appeared to think for a moment and Hopalong went on: "I think whoever it is should be from town or one of your neighbor's ranches. I don't trust this man Pod, an' you're going to need your other hand right here."
"Joe Gamble." Sue said immediately. "He rides for the 3F and he's worried about rustling just like we are."
"She's right. Joe's a good boy," Gibson agreed.
"All right, can you get word to him?"
"First thing in the morning," Sue said as she put a pot on the stove.
While the coffee was heating, Hopalong got busy on the beef and beans. While he was eating, a horse came into the yard, and Sue's eyes grew darker. "That's probably Pod come back."
"How far could he ride in that time?" Hoppy asked. "As far as the 8 Boxed H?"
Sue nodded, her eyes flashing. "That's about the only place he could ride, unless he met somebody in the hills."
"Possibly," Hopalong suggested, "I should have a talk with him."
Yet he remained, talking to Sue and then to her father about the country, listening to their descriptions of places and people, knowing that every comment might someday be vital, for they knew this country as he did not. It was after ten when he finally got to his feet. There was still a light in the bunkhouse. Saying good night, he walked outside.
Carelessly, without a glance towards the bunkhouse, he strolled down to the corrals, but had hardly rounded the corner of the corral before a boot grated on gravel behind him. Wheeling, Hopalong was just in time to catch Pod grabbing for his gun.
Cassidy sidestepped quickly and flashed his Colt. It spat flame, and Pod sprang back, gripping his bloody wrist and swearing.
Hopalong closed in instantly, hearing a door slam at the house and then from the bunkhouse. Pod stared at him, his eyes ugly in the dim light from the window.
"You durned near shot my hand off!" he exclaimed.
Cassidy picked up the fallen pistol, then spun the man
around and started him towards the house. Sue stood in the doorway, a shotgun in her hands. Frank Gillespie had come from the bunkhouse with a Winchester.
"Got him, huh?" Gillespie stared from Cassidy to Pod. "I figured he was up to somethin'. Usually he can't get to sleep too soon, but tonight he sat up and kept sittin' up. I was keepin' an eye on him, but sort of dozed off."
"Better go back in the house, Sue," Hopalong said quietly. "We got us a job to do."
She was close to him now, but evidently what she saw in his eyes reassured her, for she turned and walked back to the house. When the door slammed, Hoppy motioned to Frank.
"Get a rope," he said. "Thi
s hombre's horse'll be saddled, so we'll use it. That cottonwood over there ought to do the job."
Pod's face went white as death. "Hey! You ain't goin' to hang me? You can't do that!"
"No?" Hopalong's voice was icy. "Why not? You're workin' with rustlers, aren't you? You sold out your boss, didn't you? You tried to shoot me in the back, didn't you? What do you expect?"
Terror flooded the man's features. "No!" He almost screamed the word. "Don't hang me--don't! I didn't mean it!"
"All right, then," Hopalong replied reasonably. "Tell us who you are working for and what the setup is."
"They'd kill me!" Pod protested.
Hopalong's chuckle was unpleasant. "Rather get it from them or us? Perhaps they'll shoot you, but I promise, if you don't talk, I'll hang you!"
Pod hesitated, desperately searching for some way out, but the faces of the two men convinced him. Frank Gillespie had neither liked nor trusted him, and as for Cassidy--
"All right," Pod said hoarsely. "It was"--he hesitated, and
a crafty light came into his eyes--"it was the Aragons. They are the rustlers. They tried to kill your friend Red Connors, and wanted to get you. They didn't set me on to it, though," he added honestly enough. "I figured I'd do it on my own."
"Aragon?" Hopalong stared at the man, trying to see his eyes better. It was difficult to tell whether the man was telling the truth or not, but it sounded like he was lying. "You sure?"
"Who else could it be?" Pod demanded. "I should know, shouldn't I?"
"It might be Jack Bolt," Hopalong said calmly. "It might be those hands of his--Grat, Bones, and the rest."
"Don't know how you'd figure it was them," Pod said. "I don't know 'em at all."
"You lie!" Gillespie said harshly. "I saw you with 'em more than once! You and that Grat are thicker than thieves! Haul on that rope, Hoppy. Let's hang this hombre!"
"No!" Pod gasped hoarsely. "Don't hang me! It was Bolt! He's in with Aragon! They are hittin' your north herd tonight!"
"What?" Gillespie roared. "Tonight?"
"Take the rope off him," Hopalong said quietly. "Then go saddle up."
the Riders Of High Rock (1993) Page 4
