"Bless my gran'mother's old gray cat!" breathed Idaho. "No wonder they pulled th' string! I'm sayin' Kane's got hard ridin' ahead. Say, can I tell th' boys at th' ranch?"
"Tell 'em nothin' that you wouldn't know except for me tellin' you," replied Johnny. "I know they're good boys; but they might let it slip. Me an' Hoppy an' Red are aimin' for them rewards—an' we're goin' to get 'em both."
"It's a plumb lovely night," muttered Idaho. "Nicest night I think I ever saw. I don't want no rewards, but I just got to get my itchin' paws into what's goin' on around this town. An' it's a lovely town. Nicest town I think I ever was in. That 'dobe shack ain't what it once was. I know, because, not bein' friendly with th' sheriff, an' not bein' able to look all directions at once, I figgered I might be in it, myself, some day. So I've looked it over good, inside an' out. Th' walls are crumbly, an' th' bars in th' window are old. There's a waggin tongue in Pete Jarvis' freight waggin that's near twelve foot long, an' a-plenty thick. Ash, I think it is; that or oak. Either's good enough. If it was shoved between th' bars an' then pushed sideways that jail wouldn't be a jail no more. If Pete ain't taken th' waggin to bed with him, bein' so proud of it, we can crack that little hazelnut. I'm goin' back an' see how many are still hangin' around."
"I'm goin' back to th' hotel, so I'll be seen there," said Johnny.
"I'll do th' same, later," replied his friend as they separated.
Quayle was getting rid of some of his accumulated anger, which reflection had caused to soar up near the danger point. "Tom Ridley wasn't killed by no strangers!" he growled, banging the table with his fist. "I can name th' man that done it by callin' th' roll av Kane's litter; an' I'll be namin' th' bank robbers in th' same breath." He looked around as Johnny entered the room. "An' what did ye find, lad?"
"Idaho was right. They've got 'em in th' jail."
"An' if I was as young a man as you," said the proprietor, "they wouldn't kape 'em there. As ut is I'm timpted to go up an' bust in th' dommed door, before th' sheriff comes back from his ride. Tom Ridley's murderer? Bah!"
"Back from his ride?" questioned Johnny, quickly and eagerly.
"Shure. He just wint down th' trail. Tellin' Mac, I don't doubt that he's got th' men Twitchell wants. I was lookin' around when he wint past. This is th' time, lad. I'll help ye by settin' fire to Red Frank's corral if th' jail's watched. It'll take their attention. Or I'll lug me rifle up an' cover ye while ye. work." He arose and went into the office for the weapon, Johnny following him. "There she is—full to th' ind. An' I know her purty ways."
"Tim," said Johnny's low voice over his shoulder. "Yo're white, clean through. I don't need yore help, anyhow, not right now. An' because you are white I'm goin' to tell you somethin' that'll please you, an' give me one more good friend in this rotten town. Bill Long an' Red Thompson are friends of mine. They did not rob th' bank, nor shoot Ridley; but Bill knows who did shoot Ridley. He saw him climbin' out of Kane's south stable while th' smoke was still comin' from th' gun that shot yore friend. I can put my hand on th' coyote in five minutes. Th' three of us are stayin' here to get that man, th' man who robbed th' bank, an' Pecos Kane. I'm tellin' you this because I may need a good friend in Mesquite before we're through."
Quayle had wheeled and gripped his shoulder with convulsive force. "Ah!" he breathed. "Come on, lad; point him out! Point him out for Tim Quayle, like th' good lad ye are!"
"Do you want him so bad that yo're willin' to let th' real killer get away?" asked Johnny. "You only have to wait an' we'll get both."
"What d'ye mean?"
"You don't believe he shot Ridley without bein' told to do it, do you?"
"Kane told him; I know it as plain as I know my name."
"Knowin' ain't provin' it, an' provin' it is what we got to do."
"'Tis th' curse av th' Irish, jumpin' first an' thinkin' after," growled Quayle. "Go wan!"
"Yo're friends with McCullough," said Johnny. "Mac knows a little; an' I'm near certain he's heard of Hopalong Cassidy an' Red Connors, of th' Bar-20. Don't forget th' names: Hopalong Cassidy an' Red Connors, of th' old Bar-20 in th' Pecos Valley. Buck Peters was foreman. I want you to go down an' pay him a friendly visit, and tell him this," and Quayle listened intently to the message.
"Bye," chuckled the proprietor, "ye leave Mac to me. We been friends for years, an' Tom Ridley was th' friend of us both. But, lad, ye may die; an' Bill Long may die—life is uncertain annywhere, an' more so in Mesquite, these days. If yer a friend av Tim Quayle, slip me th' name av th' man that murdered Ridley. I promise ye to kape han's off—an' I want no reward. But it fair sickens me to think his name may be lost. Tom was like a brother."
"If you knew th' man you couldn't hold back," replied Johnny. "Here: I'll tell Idaho, an' Ed Doane. If Bill an' I go under they'll give you his description. I don't know his name."
"Th' offer is a good wan; but Tim Quayle never broke his word to anny man—an' there's nothin' on earth or in hiven I want so much as to know who murdered Tom Ridley. I pass ye my word with th' sign av th' cross, on th' witness of th' Holy Virgin, an' on th' mem'ry av Tom Ridley—I'll stay me hand accordin' to me promise."
Johnny looked deeply into the faded blue eyes through the tears which filmed them. He gripped the proprietor's hand and leaned closer. "A Mexican with a pock-marked face, an' a crescent-shaped scar over his right eye. He is about my height an' drags one foot slightly when he walks."
"Aye, from th' ball an' chain!" muttered Quayle. "I know th' scut! Thank ye, lad: I can sleep better nights. An' I can wait as no Irishman ever waited before. Annythin' Tim Quayle has is yourn; yourn an' yore friends. I'll see Mac tomorrow. Good night." He cuddled the rifle and went toward the stairs, but as he put his foot on the first step he stopped, turned, and went to a chair in a corner. "I'm forgettin'," he said, simply. "Ye may need me," and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, an expression of peace on his wrinkled face.
CHAPTER XIII
OUT AND AWAY
IDAHO slipped out of the darkness of the kitchen and appeared in the door. "All right, Nelson," he called. "There's two on guard an' th' rest have left. They ain't takin' their job any too serious, neither. Just one apiece," he chuckled.
Johnny looked at the proprietor. "Got any rope, Tim?" he asked.
"Plenty," answered Quayle, arising hastily and leading the way toward the kitchen. Supplying their need he stood in the door and peered into the darkness after them. "Good luck, byes," he muttered.
Pete Jarvis was proud of his new sixteen-foot freighter and he must have turned in his sleep when two figures, masked to the eyes by handkerchiefs, stole into his yard and went off with the heavy wagon tongue. They carried it up to the old wagon near the jail, where they put it down, removed their boots, and went on without it, reaching the rear wall of the jail without incident, where they crouched, one at each corner, and smiled at the conversation going on.
"I'm hopin' for a look at yore faces," said Red's voice, "to see what they looked like before I get through with 'em, if I ever get my chance. Come in, an' be sociable."
"Yo're doin' a lot of talkin' now, you red-headed coyote," came the jeering reply. "But how are you goin' to talk to th' judge?"
"Bring some clean straw in th' mornin'," said Bill Long, "or we'll bust yore necks. Manure's all right for Injuns, an' you, but we're white men. Hear me chirp, you mangy pups?"
"It's good enough for you!" snapped a guard. "I was goin' to get you some, but now you can rot, for all I care!"
Johnny backed under the window, raised up and pressed his face against the rusty bars. "It's th' Kid," he whispered. "Are you untied yet?"
The soft answer pleased him and he went back to his corner of the wall, where he grudged every passing minute. He had decided to wait no longer, but to risk the noise of a shot if the unsuspecting guards could get a gun out quickly enough, and he was about to tell Idaho of the change in the plans when the words of a guard checked him.
"Guess I'll walk around again
," said one of them, arising slowly. "Gettin' cramped, an' sleepy, settin' here."
"You spit in that window again an' I'll bust yore neck!" said Red's angry voice, whereupon Johnny found a new pleasure in doing his duty.
"You ain't bustin' nobody, or nothin'," jeered the guard, "'less it's th' rope yo're goin' to drop on." He yawned and stretched and sauntered along the side of the building, turned the corner and then raised his hands with a jerk as a Colt pushed into his stomach and a hard voice whispered terse instructions, which he instantly obeyed. "You fellers ain't so bad, at that," he said, with only a slight change in his voice; "but yo're shore playin' in hard luck."
"Keep yore sympathy to yoreself!" angrily retorted Bill Long.
Idaho, having unbuckled the gun-belt and laid it gently on the ground, swiftly pulled the victim's arms down behind his back and tied the crossed wrists. Johnny now got busy with ropes for his feet, and a gag, and they soon laid him close to the base of the wall, and crept toward the front of the building, one to each wall. Johnny tensed himself as Idaho sauntered around the other corner.
"Makin' up with 'em?" asked the guard, ironically. "You don't want to let 'em throw a scare into you. They'll never harm nobody no more." He lazily arose to stretch his legs on a turn around the building. "You listen to what I'm goin' to tell 'em," he said. Then he squawked and went down with Johnny on his back, Idaho's dive coming a second later. A blow on his head caused him to lose any impertinent interest which he might have had in subsequent events and soon he, too, lay along the base of the rear wall, bound, gagged, and helpless.
"I near could feel th' jar of that in here," said Red's cheerful voice. "I'm hopin' it was th' coyote that spit through th' window. What's next?" he asked, on his feet and pulling at bars. He received no answer and commented upon that fact frankly and profusely.
"Shut yore face," growled Bill, working at his side. "He's hatchin' somethin' under his hat."
"Somethin' hatchin' all over me," grunted Red, stirring restlessly. "I'm a heap surprised this old mud hut ain't walkin' off some'ers."
Bill squirmed. "You ain't got no call to put on no airs," he retorted. "Mine's been hatched a long time. I wouldn't let a dog lay on straw as rotten as that stuff. Oh!" he gloated. "Somebody's shore goin' to pay for this little party!"
"Wish th' sheriff would open that outside door about now," chuckled Red, balancing his six-chambered gift. "I'd make him pop-eyed."
Hurrying feet, booted now, came rapidly nearer and soon the square-cornered end of a seasoned wagon tongue scraped on the adobe window ledge. Bill Long grabbed it and drew it between two of the bars.
"Go toward th' south," he said. "That's th' boy! Listen to 'em scrape!" he exulted. "Go ahead—she's startin'. I can feel th' 'dobe crackin' between th' bars. Come back an' take th' next—you'll have a little better swing because it's further from th' edge of th' window. Go ahead! It's bendin' an' pullin' out at both ends. Go on! Whoop! There goes th' 'dobe. Come back to th' middle an' use that pry as a batterin'-ram on this bar. Steady; we'll do th' guidin'. All ready? Then let her go! Fine! Try again. That's th' stuff—she's gone! Take th' next. Ready? Let her go! There goes more 'dobe, on this side. Once more: Ready? Let her go! Good enough: Here we come."
"Wait," said Johnny. "We'll pass one of these fellers in to you. If we leave 'em both together they'll mebby roll together an' untie each other."
"Like we did," chuckled Red.
"Give us th' first one you got," said Bill. "He's th' one that spit through th' window. I want him to lay on this straw, too. He's tied, an' can't scratch."
The guard was raised to the window, pushed and pulled through it and carelessly dumped on Red's bed, after which it did not take long for the two prisoners to gain their freedom.
"Good Kid!" said Bill, gripping his friend's hand. "An' you, too, whoever you are!"
"Don't mention no names," whispered Idaho. "We couldn't find no ear plugs," he chuckled, shaking hands with Red. "I'm too well known in this town. What'll we do with this coyote? Let him lay here?"
"No," answered Johnny. "He might roll over to Red Frank's an' get help. Picket him to a bush or cactus. Here, gimme a hand with him. I reckon he's come to, by th' way he's bracin' hisself. Little faster—time's flyin'. All right, put him down." Johnny busied himself with the last piece of rope and stood up. "Come on—Kane's stables, next."
As they crossed the street above the gambling-house, where in reality it was a trail, Bill Long took a hand in the evening's plans.
"Red," he said, "you go an' get our cayuses. Bring 'em right here, where we are now, an' wait for us. Idaho, you an' Johnny come with me an' stand under th' window of my room to take th' things I let down, an' free th' rope from 'em. I'm cussed shore we ain't goin' to leave all of our traps behind, not unless they been stole."
"I like yore cussed nerve!" chuckled Idaho. "Don't blame you, though. I'm ready."
"His nerve's just plain gall!" snapped Red, turning to Hopalong. "Think yo're sendin' me off to get a couple of cayuses, while yo're runnin' that risk in there? Get th' cayuses yoreself; I'll get th' fixin's!"
"Don't waste time like this!" growled Johnny. "Do as yo're told, you red-headed wart! Corwin will shore go to th' jail before he turns in. Come on, Hoppy."
"That name sounds good again," chuckled Hopalong, giving Red a shove toward the stables. "Get them cayuses, Carrot-Top!"
Red obeyed, but took it out in talking to himself as he went along, and as he entered the north stable he stepped on something large and soft, which instantly went into action. Red dropped to his knees and clinched, getting both wrists in his hands. Being in a hurry, and afraid of any outcry, he could not indulge in niceties, so he brought one knee up and planted it forcefully in his enemy's stomach, threw his weight on it and jumped up and down. Sliding his hands down the wrists, one at a time, he found the knife and took it from the relaxing fingers. Then he felt for the victim's jaw with one hand and hit it with the other. Arising, he hummed a tune and soon led out the two horses.
"Don't like to leave th' others for them fellers to use," he growled, and forthwith decided not to leave them. He drove them out of both stables, mounted his own, led Hopalong's, and slowly herded the other dozen ahead of him over the soft sand and away. When he finally reached the agreed-upon meeting place he reflected with pleasure that anyone wishing to use those horses for the purpose of pursuit, or any other purpose, would first have to find, and then catch them. They were going strong when he had last heard them.
Idaho had stopped under the window pointed out to him, and his two companions, leaving their boots in his tender care, were swallowed up in the darkness. They opened the squeaking front door, cautiously climbed the squeaking stairs and fairly oozed over the floor of the upper hall, which wanted to squeak, and did so a very little. Hopalong slowly opened the door of his room, thankful that he had oiled its one musical hinge, and felt cautiously over the bed. It was empty, and his sigh of relief was audible. And he was further relieved when his groping hand found his possessions where he had left them. He was stooping to loosen the coil of rope at the pommel of his saddle when he heard a sleepy, inquiring voice and a soft thud, and anxiously slipped to the door.
"Kid!" he whispered. "Kid!"
"Shut yore fool face," replied the object of his solicitude, striking a match for one quick glance around. The room was strange to him, since he never had been in it before, and he had to get his bearings. The inert man on the bed did not get a second glance, for the sound and weight of the blow had reassured Johnny. There were two saddles, two rifles, two of everything, which was distressing under the circumstances.
Hopalong had just lowered his own saddle to the waiting Idaho when the catlike Johnny entered the room with a saddle and a rifle. He placed them on the bed, where they would make no noise, and departed, catlike. Soon returning he placed another saddle and rifle on the bed and departed once more.
Hopalong, having sent down both of Johnny's first offerings, felt over the bed
for the rest of Red's belongings, if there were any more, and became profanely indignant as his hand caressed another rifle and then bumped against another saddle.
"What'n blazes is he doin'?" he demanded. "My gravy! There's more'n a dozen rooms on this floor, an' men in all of 'em! Hey, Kid!" he whispered as breathing sounded suddenly close to him.
"What?" asked Johnny, holding two slicker rolls, a sombrero, a pair of boots, and a suit of clothes. Two belts with their six-guns were slung around his neck, but the darkness mercifully hid the sight from his friend.
"Blast it! We ain't movin' this hotel," said Hopalong with biting sarcasm. "It don't belong to us, you know. 'An' what was that whack I heard when you first went in?"
"Somebody jumped Red's bed, an' wanted to know some fool thing, or somethin', an' I had to quiet him. An' what'n blazes are you kickin' about? I've moved twice as much as you have, more'n twice as far. Grab holt of some of this stuff an' send it down to Idaho. He'll think you've went to sleep."
"You locoed tumble-bug!" said Hopalong. "Aimin' to send down th' bed, with th' feller in it, too?"
A door creaked suddenly and they froze.
"Quit yore cussed noise an' go to sleep!" growled a sleepy, truculent voice, and the door creaked shut again.
After a short wait in silence Hopalong put out an inquiring hand. "Come on," he whispered. "What you got there?"
Johnny told him, and Hopalong dropped the articles out of the window, all but the hat, boots, and clothes. "Don't you know Red's wearin' his clothes, boots an' hat, you chump?" he said, gratis. "Leave them things here an' foller me," and he started for the head of the stairs.
They were halfway down when they heard a horse galloping toward the hotel. It was coming from the direction of the jail and they nudged each other.
Sheriff Corwin, feeling like he was master of all he surveyed, had ridden to the jail before going to report to Kane for the purpose of cautioning the guards not to relax their vigil. Not being able to see them in the darkness meant nothing to him, for they should have challenged him, and had not. He swept up to the door, angrily calling them by name and, receiving no reply, dismounted in hot haste, shook the door and then went hurriedly around the building to feel of the bars. One sweep of his hand was enough and as he wheeled he tripped over the wagon tongue and fell sprawling, his gun flying out of his hand. Groping around he found it, jammed it back into the holster, darted back to his horse and dashed off at top speed for Kane's to spread the alarm and collect a posse.
Hopalong Cassidy Sees Red Page 13
