Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up Part 20

Mr. Connors looked his disgust at the idea and then a light broke in upon him. "Mebby they was hard pushed an' wanted fresh cayuses," he said. "A whole lot of people get hard pushed in this country. Anyhow, we'll prospect th' boss."

They found the proprietor in his stocking feet, getting the breakfast, and Mr. Ca.s.sidy regarded the preparations with open approval. He counted the tin plates and found only three, and, thinking that there would be more plates if there were others to feed, glanced into the landlord's room. Not finding signs of other guests, on whom to lay the blame for the loss of his horse, he began to ask questions.

"Much trade?" He inquired solicitously.

"Yep," replied the landlord.

Mr. Ca.s.sidy looked at the three tins and wondered if there had ever been any more with which to supply his trade. "Been out this morning?" he pursued.

"Nope."

"Talks purty nigh as much as Buck," thought Mr. Ca.s.sidy, and then said aloud, "Anybody else here?"

"Nope."

Mr. Ca.s.sidy lapsed into a painful and disgusted silence and his friend tried his hand.

"Who owns a mosaic bronch, Chinee flag on th' near side, Skillet brand?"

asked Mr. Connors.

"Quien sabe?"

"Gosh, he can nearly keep still in two lingoes," thought Mr. Ca.s.sidy.

"Who owns a bob-tailed pinto, saddle-galled, cast in th' near eye, Star Diamond brand, white stockin' on th' off front prop, with a habit of scratchin' itself every other minute?" went on Mr. Connors.

"Slim Travennes," replied the proprietor, flopping a flapjack. Mr.

Ca.s.sidy reflectively scratched the back of his hand and looked innocent, but his mind was working overtime.

"Who's Slim Travennes?" Asked Mr. Connors, never having heard of that person, owing to the reticence of his friend.

"Captain of th' vigilantes."

"What does he look like on th' general run?" Blandly inquired Mr.

Ca.s.sidy, wis.h.i.+ng to verify his suspicions. He thought of the trouble he had with Mr. Travennes up in Santa Fe and of the reputation that gentleman possessed. Then the fact that Mr. Travennes was the leader of the local vigilantes came to his a.s.sistance and he was sure that the captain had a hand in the change. All these points existed in misty groups in his mind, but the next remark of the landlord caused them to rush together and reveal the plot.

"Good," said the landlord, flopping another flapjack, "and a warnin' to hoss thieves.

"Ahem," coughed Mr. Ca.s.sidy and then continued, "is he a tall, lanky, yaller-headed son-of-a-gun, with a big nose an' lots of ears?"

"Mebby so," answered the host.

"Urn, slopping over into bad Sioux," thought Mr. Ca.s.sidy, and then said aloud, "How long has he hung around this here layout?" At the same time pa.s.sing a warning glance at his companion.

The landlord straightened up. "Look here, stranger, if yu hankers after his pedigree so all-fired hard yu had best pump him."

"I told yu this here feller wasn't a man what would give away all he knowed," lied Mr. Connors, turning to his friend and indicating the host. "He ain't got time for that. Anybody can see that he is a powerful busy man. An' then he ain't no child."

Mr. Ca.s.sidy thought that the landlord could tell all he knew in about five minutes and then not break any speed records for conversation, but he looked properly awed and impressed. "Well, yu needn't go an' get mad about it! I didn't know, did I?"

"Who's gettin' mad?" Pugnaciously asked Mr. Connors. After his injured feelings had been soothed by Mr. Ca.s.sidy's sullen silence he again turned to the landlord.

"What did this Travennes look like when yu saw him last?" Coaxed Mr.

Connors.

"Th' same as he does now, as yu can see by lookin' out of th' window.

That's him down th' street," enlightened the host, thawing to the pleasant Mr. Connors.

Mr. Ca.s.sidy adopted the suggestion and frowned. Mr. Travennes and two companions were walking toward the corral and Mr. Ca.s.sidy once again slid out of the window, his friend going by the door.

CHAPTER XIII. Travennes' Discomfiture

When Mr. Travennes looked over the corral fence he was much chagrined to see a man and a Colt both paying strict attention to his nose.

"Mornin', Duke," said the man with the gun. "Lose anything?"

Mr. Travennes looked back at his friends and saw Mr. Connors sitting on a rock holding two guns. Mr. Travennes' right and left wings were the targets and they pitted their frowns against Mr. Connors' smile.

"Not that I knows of," replied Mr. Travennes, s.h.i.+fting his feet uneasily.

"Find anything?" Came from Mr. Ca.s.sidy as he sidled out of the gate.

"Nope," replied the captain of the Terrors, eying the Colt. "Are yu in the habit of payin' early mornin' calls to this here corral?" persisted Mr. Ca.s.sidy, playing with the gun.

"Ya-as. That's my business--I'm th' captain of the vigilantes."

"That's too bad," sympathized Mr. Ca.s.sidy, moving forward a step.

Mr. Travennes looked put out and backed off. "What yu mean, stickin' me up this-away?" He asked indignantly.

"Yu needn't go an' get mad," responded Mr. Ca.s.sidy. "Just business. Yore cayuse an' another sh.o.r.e climbed this corral fence last night an' ate up our bronchs, an' I just nachurly want to know about it."

Mr. Travennes looked his surprise and incredulity and craned his neck to see for himself. When he saw his horse peacefully scratching itself he swore and looked angrily up the street. Mr. Connors, behind the shack, was hidden to the view of those on the street, and when two men ran up at a signal from Mr. Travennes, intending to insert themselves in the misunderstanding, they were promptly lined up with the first two by the man on the rock.

"Sit down," invited Mr. Connors, pus.h.i.+ng a chunk of air out of the way with his guns. The last two felt a desire to talk and to argue the case on its merits, but refrained as the black holes in Mr. Connors' guns hinted at eruption. "Every time yu opens yore mouths yu gets closer to th' Great Divide," enlightened that person, and they were childlike in their belief.

Mr. Travennes acted as though he would like to scratch his thigh where his Colt's chafed him, but postponed the event and listened to Mr.

Ca.s.sidy, who was asking questions.

"Where's our cayuses, General?"

Mr. Travennes replied that he didn't know. He was worried, for he feared that his captor didn't have a secure hold on the hammer of the ubiquitous Colt's.

"Where's my cayuse?" Persisted Mr. Ca.s.sidy.