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    Hopalong Cassidy

    BY

    Clarence E. Mulford

    Author of
    The BAR-20 THREE, "TEX", Etc.

    GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers

    By arrangement with A. C. McClurg & Co.

    COPYRIGHT
    BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
    1910

    Published March 12, 1910
    Second Edition, March 19, 1910
    Third Edition, March 26, 1910
    Fourth Edition, May 28, 1910
    Fifth Edition, July 9, 1910
    Sixth Edition, January 28, 1911

    Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

    _All Rights Reserved_

    _Affectionately Dedicated
    to My Father_

    CONTENTS

    CHAPTER

          I. ANTONIO'S SCHEME
         II. MARY MEEKER RIDES NORTH
        III. THE ROUNDUP
         IV. IN WEST ARROYO
          V. HOPALONG ASSERTS HIMSELF
         VI. MEEKER IS TOLD
        VII. HOPALONG MEETS MEEKER
       VIII. ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT
         IX. ON THE PEAK
          X. BUCK VISITS MEEKER
         XI. THREE IS A CROWD
        XII. HOBBLE BURNS AND SLEEPERS
       XIII. HOPALONG GROWS SUSPICIOUS
        XIV. THE COMPROMISE
         XV. ANTONIO MEETS FRIENDS
        XVI. THE FEINT
       XVII. PETE IS TRICKED
      XVIII. THE LINE HOUSE RE-CAPTURED
        XIX. ANTONIO LEAVES THE H2
         XX. WHAT THE DAM TOLD
        XXI. HOPALONG RIDES SOUTH
       XXII. LUCAS VISITS THE PEAK
      XXIII. HOPALONG AND RED GO SCOUTING
       XXIV. RED'S DISCOMFITURE
        XXV. ANTONIO'S REVENGE
       XXVI. FRISCO VISITS EAGLE
      XXVII. SHAW HAS VISITORS
     XXVIII. NEVADA JOINS SHAW
       XXIX. SURROUNDED
        XXX. UP THE WALL
       XXXI. FORTUNE SNICKERS AT DOC
      XXXII. NATURE TAKES A HAND
     XXXIII. DOC TRAILS
      XXXIV. DISCOVERIES
       XXXV. JOHNNY TAKES THE HUT
      XXXVI. THE LAST NIGHT
     XXXVII. THEIR LAST FIGHT
    XXXVIII. A DISAGREEABLE TASK
      XXXIX. THIRST
         XL. CHANGES
        XLI. HOPALONG'S REWARD

HOPALONG CASSIDY

CHAPTER I

ANTONIO'S SCHEME

The raw and mighty West, the greatest stage in all the history of the
world for so many deeds of daring which verged on the insane, was
seared and cross-barred with grave-lined trails and dotted with
presumptuous, mushroom towns of brief stay, whose inhabitants flung
their primal passions in the face of humanity and laughed in
condescending contempt at what humanity had to say about it. In many
localities the real bad-man, the man of the gun, whose claims to the
appellation he was ready to prove against the rancorous doubting of
all comers, made history in a terse and business-like way, and also
made the first law for the locality--that of the gun.

There were good bad-men and bad bad-men, the killer by necessity and
the wanton murderer; and the shifting of these to their proper strata
evolved the foundation for the law of to-day. The good bad-men, those
in whose souls lived the germs of law and order and justice, gradually
became arrayed against the other class, and stood up manfully for
their principles, let the odds be what they might; and bitter,
indeed, was the struggle, and great the price.

From the gold camps of the Rockies to the shrieking towns of the
coast, where wantonness stalked unchecked; from the vast stretches of
the cattle ranges to the ever-advancing terminals of the persistent
railroads, to the cow towns, boiling and seething in the loosed
passions of men who brooked no restraint in their revels, no one
section of country ever boasted of such numbers of genuine bad-men of
both classes as the great, semi-arid Southwest. Here was one of the
worst collections of raw humanity ever broadcast in one locality; here
the crack of the gun would have sickened except that moralists were
few and the individual so calloused and so busy in protecting his own
life and wiping out his own scores that he gave no heed to the sum
total of the killings; it was a word and a shot, a shot and a laugh or
a curse.

In this red setting was stuck a town which we will call Eagle, the
riffle which caught all the dregs of passing humanity, where men
danced as souls were freed. Unmapped, known only to those who had
visited it, it reared its flimsy buildings in the face of God and
rioted day and night with no thought of reckoning; mad, insane with
hellishness unlimited.

Late in the afternoon of a glorious day towards this town rode
Antonio, "broncho-buster" for the H2, a Mexican of little courage,
much avarice, and great capacity for hatred. Crafty, filled with
cunning of the coyote kind, shifty-eyed, gloomy, taciturn, and
scowling, he was well fitted for the part he had elected to play in
the range dispute between his ranch and the Bar-20. He was absolutely
without mercy or conscience; indeed, one might aptly say that his
conscience, if he had ever known one, had been pulled out by the roots
and its place filled with viciousness. Cold-blooded in his ferocity,
easily angered and quick to commit murder if the risk were small, he
embraced within his husk of soul the putrescence of all that was evil.

In Eagle he had friends who were only a shade less evil than himself;
but they had what he lacked and because of it were entitled to a
forced respect of small weight--they had courage, that spontaneous,
initiative, heedless courage which toned the atmosphere of the whole
West to a magnificent crimson. Were it not for the reason that they
had drifted to his social level they would have spurned his
acquaintance and shot him for a buzzard; but, while they secretly held
him in great contempt for his cowardice, they admired his criminal
cunning, and profited by it. He was too wise to show himself in the
true light to his foreman and the outfit, knowing full well that death
would be the response, and so lived a lie until he met his friends of
the town, when he threw off his cloak and became himself, and where he
plotted against the man who treated him fairly.

Riding into the town, he stopped before a saloon and slouched in to
the bar, where the proprietor was placing a new stock of liquors on
the shelves.

"Where's Benito, an' th' rest?" he asked.

"Back there," replied the other; nodding toward a rear room.

"Who's in there?"

"Benito, Hall, Archer an' Frisco."

"Where's Shaw?"

"Him an' Clausen an' Cavalry went out 'bout ten minutes ago."

"I want to see 'em when they come in," Antonio remarked, shambling
towards the door, where he listened, and then went in.

In the small room four men were grouped around a table, drinking and
talking, and at his entry they looked up and nodded. He nodded in
reply and seated himself apart from them, where he soon became wrapped
in thought.

Benito arose and went to the door. "_Mescal, pronto_," he said to the
man outside.

"D----d _pronto_, too," growled Antonio. "A man would die of alkali in
this place before he's waited on."

The proprietor brought a bottle and filled the glasses, giving Antonio
his drink first, and silently withdrew.

The broncho-buster tossed off the fiery stuff and then turned his
shifty eyes on the group. "Where's Shaw?"

"Don't know--back soon," replied Benito.

"Why didn't he wait, when he knowed I was comin' in?"

Hall leaned back from the table and replied, keenly watching the
inquisitor, "Because he don't give a d--n."

"You----!" shouted the Mexican, half arising, but the others
interfered and he sank back again, content to let it pass. But not so
Hall, whose Colt was half drawn.

"I'll kill you some day, you whelp," he gritted, but before anything
could come of it Shaw and his companions entered the room and the
trouble was quelled.

Soon the group was deep in discussion over the merits of a scheme
which Antonio unfolded to them, and the more it was weighed the better
it appeared. Finally Shaw leaned back and filled his pipe. "You've got
th' brains of th' devil, 'Tony."

"Eet ees not'ing," replied Antonio.

"Oh, drop that lingo an' talk straight--you ain't on th' H2 now,"
growled Hall.

"Benito, you know this country like a book," Shaw continued. "Where's
a good place for us to work from, or ain't there no choice?"

"Thunder Mesa."

"Well, what of it?"

"On de edge of de desert, high, beeg. De walls are stone, an' so ver'
smooth. Nobody can get up."

"How can we get up then?"

"There's a trail at one end," replied Antonio, crossing his legs and
preparing to roll a cigarette. "It's too steep for cayuses, an' too
narrow; but we can crawl up. An' once up, all h--l can't follow as
long as our cartridges hold out."

"Water?" inquired Frisco.

"At th' bottom of th' trail, an' th' spring is on top," Antonio
replied. "Not much, but enough."

"Can you work yore end all right?" asked Shaw.

"_Si_," laughed the other. "I am 'that fool, Antonio,' on th' ranch.
But they're th' fools. We can steal them blind an' if they find it
out--well," here he shrugged his shoulders, "th' Bar-20 can take th'
blame. I'll fix that, all right. This trouble about th' line is just
what I've been waitin' for, an' I'll help it along. If we can get 'em
fightin' we'll run off with th' bone _we_ want. That'll be easy."

"But can you get 'em fightin'?" asked Cavalry, so called because he
had spent several years in that branch of the Government service, and
deserted because of the discipline.

Antonio laughed and ordered more _mescal_ and for some time took no
part in the discussion which went on about him. He was dreaming of
success and plenty and a ranch of his own which he would start in Old
Mexico, in a place far removed from the border, and where no questions
would be asked. He would be a rich man, according to the standards of
that locality, and what he said would be law among the peons. He liked
to daydream, for everything came out just as he wished; there was no
discordant note. He was so certain of success, so conceited as not to
ask himself if any of the Bar-20 or H2 outfits were not his equal or
superior in intelligence. It was only a matter of time, he told
himself, for he could easily get the two ranches embroiled in a range
war, and once embroiled, his plan would succeed and he would be safe.

"What do you want for your share, 'Tony?" suddenly asked Shaw.

"Half."

"What! _Half?_"

"_Si._"

"You're loco!" cried the other. "Do you reckon we're going to buck up
agin th' biggest an' hardest fightin' outfit in this country an' take
all sorts of chances for a measly half, to be divided up among seven
of us!" He brought his fist down on the table with a resounding thump.
"You an' yore game can go to h--l first!" he shouted.

"I like a hog, all right," sneered Clausen, angrily.

"I thought it out an' I got to look after th' worst an' most important
part of it, an' take three chances to you fellers' one," replied
Antonio, frowning. "I said half, an' it goes."

"Run all th' ends, an' keep it all," exclaimed Hall. "An', by God,
we've got a hand in it, now. If you try to hog it we'll drop a word
where it'll do th' most good, an' don't you forget it, neither."

"Anton ees right," asserted Benito, excitedly. "Eet ees one reesk for
Anton."

"Keep yore yaller mouth shut," growled Cavalry. "Who gave you any say
in this?"

"Half," said Antonio, shrugging his shoulders.

"Look here, you," cried Shaw, who was, in reality, the leader of the
crowd, inasmuch as he controlled all the others with the exception of
Benito and Antonio, and these at times by the judicious use of
flattery. "We'll admit that you've got a right to th' biggest share,
but not to no half. You have a chance to get away, because you can
watch 'em, but how about us, out there on th' edge of h--l? If they
come for us we won't know nothing about it till we're surrounded. Now
we want to play square with you, an' we'll give you twice as much as
any one of th' rest of us. That'll make nine shares an' give you two
of 'em. What more do you want, when you've got to have us to run th'
game at all?"

Antonio laughed ironically. "Yes. I'm where I can watch, an' get
killed first. You can hold th' mesa for a month. I ain't as easy as I
look. It's my game, not yourn; an' if you don't like what I ask, stay
out."

"We will!" cried Hall, arising, followed by the others. His hand
rested on the butt of his revolver and trouble seemed imminent. Benito
wavered and then slid nearer to Antonio. "You can run yore game all by
yore lonesome, as _long_ as you _can_!" Hall shouted. "I know a feller
what knows Cassidy, an' I'll spoil yore little play right now. You'll
look nice at th' end of a rope, won't you? It's this: share like Shaw
said or get out of here, an' look out for trouble a-plenty to-morrow
morning. I've put up with yore gall an' swallered yore insultin'
actions just as long as I'm going to, an' I've got a powerful notion
to fix you right here and now!"

"No fightin', you fools!" cried the proprietor, grabbing his Colt and
running to the door of the room. "It's up to you fellers to stick
together!"

"I'll be d----d if I'll stand--" began Frisco.

"They want too much," interrupted Antonio, angrily, keeping close
watch over Hall.

"We want a fair share, an' that's all!" retorted Shaw. "Sit down, all
of you. We can wrastle this out without no gun-play."

"You-all been yappin' like a set of fools," said the proprietor. "I've
heard every word you-all said. If you got a mite of sense you'll be
some tender how you shout about it. It's shore risky enough without
tellin' everybody this side of sun-up."

"I mean just what I said," asserted Hall. "It's Shaw's offer, or
nothin'. We ain't playing fool for no Greaser. _Yes_, that's th'
word--Greaser!" he repeated in answer to Antonio's exclamation. "If
you don't like it, lump it!"

"Here! Here!" cried Shaw, pushing Hall into a seat. "If you two have
got anything to settle, wait till some other time."

"That's more like it," growled the proprietor, shuffling back to the
bar.

"Good Lord, 'Tony," cried Shaw in a low voice. "That's fair enough;
we've got a right to something, ain't we? Don't let a good thing fall
through just because you want th' whole earth. Better have a little
than none."

"Well, gimme a third, then."

"I'll give you a slug in th' eye, you hog!" promised Hall, starting to
rise again, but Shaw held him back. "Sit down, you fool!" he ordered,
angrily. Then he turned to the Mexican. "Third don't go; take my offer
or leave it."

"Gimme a fourth; that's fair enough."

Shaw thought for a moment and then looked up. "Well, that's more like
it. What do you say, fellers?"

"No!" cried Hall. "Two-ninths, or nothin'!"

"A fourth is two-eighths, only a little more," Shaw replied.

"Well, all right," muttered Hall, sullenly.

"That ees ver' good," laughed Benito, glad that things were clearing.
All his sympathies were with his countryman, but he hesitated to take
his part in the face of such odds.

The others gave their consent to the division and Shaw smiled. "Well,
that's more like it. Now we'll go into this thing an' sift it out.
Keep mum about it--there's twenty men in town that would want to join
us if they knowed."

"I'm goin' to be boss; what I say goes," spoke up Antonio. "It's my
game an' I'm takin' th' most risky end."

"You ain't got sand enough to be boss of anything," sneered Hall.
"Yore sand is chalk."

"You'll say too much someday," retorted Antonio, glaring.

"Oh, not to _you_, I reckon," rejoined Hall, easily.

"Shut up, both of you!" snapped Shaw. "You can be boss, 'Tony," he
said, winking at Hall. "You've got more brains for a thing like this
than any of us. I don't see how you can figger it out like you do."

Antonio laughed in a self-satisfied way, for it was pleasant to hear
such an admission from the lips of a Gringo, and he was ready to
discuss things in a better spirit. But he remembered one thing, and
swore to take payment if the plan leaked out; the proprietor had
confessed hearing every word, which was not at all to his liking. If
Quinn should tell, well, Quinn would die; he would see to that, he and
Benito.

CHAPTER II

MARY MEEKER RIDES NORTH

Mary Meeker, daughter of the H2 owner and foreman, found pleasure in
riding on little tours of investigation. She had given the southern
portions her attention first and found, after the newness had worn
off, that she did not care for the level, sandy stretches of
half-desert land which lay so flat for miles. The prospect was always
the same, always uninteresting and wearying and hot. Now she
determined upon a step which she had wished to take for a long time,
and her father's request that she should not take it grew less and
less of a deterrent factor. He had given so much thought and worry to
that mysterious valley, dropped so many remarks about it, that she at
last gave rein to her curiosity and made ready to see for herself. It
was green and hilly, like the rugged Montana she had quitted to come
down to the desert, and it should be a small Montana to her. There
were hills of respectable size, for these she saw daily from the ranch
house door, and she loved hills; anything would be better than the
limitless sand.

She had known little of restraint; her corner of the world had been
filled entirely by men and she had absorbed much of their better
traits. Self-reliant as a cowgirl should be, expert with either Colt
or Winchester, and at home in the saddle, she feared nothing the
desert might hold, except thirst. She was not only expert with
weapons, but she did not fear to use them against men, as she had
proved on one occasion in wild Montana. So she would ride to the hills
which called her so insistently and examine the valley.

One bright morning just before the roundup began she went to the
corral and looked at her horse, a cross between Kentucky stock and
cow-pony and having in a great degree the speed of the first and the
hardiness of the last, and sighed to think that she could not ride it
for days to come. Teuton was crippled and she must choose some other
animal. She had overheard Doc Riley tell Ed Joyce that the piebald in
the smaller corral was well broken, and this was the horse she would
take. The truth of the matter was that the piebald was crafty and
permitted the saddle to be fixed and himself ridden for varying
periods of time before showing what he thought of such things. Doc,
unprepared for the piebald's sudden change in demeanor, had taken a
tumble, which made him anxious to have his wounded conceit soothed by
seeing Ed Joyce receive the same treatment.

Mary found no trouble in mounting and riding the animal and she was
glad that she had overheard Doc, for now she had two horses which were
thoroughly reliable, although, of course, Teuton was the only really
good horse on the range. She rode out of the corral and headed for the
White Horse Hills, scarcely twelve miles away. What if her father had
warned her not to ride near the lawless punchers who rode the northern
range? They were only men and she was sure that to a woman they would
prove to be gentlemen.

The southern boundary of the Bar-20 ran along the top of the hills and
from them east to the river, and it was being patrolled by three
Bar-20 punchers, Hopalong, Johnny, and Red, all on the lookout for
straying cattle of both ranches. Neither Hopalong nor Red had ever
seen Mary Meeker, but Johnny had upon the occasion of his scout over
the H2 range, and he had felt eminently qualified to describe her. He
had finished his eulogistic monologue by asserting that as soon as his
more unfortunate friends saw her they would lose sleep and sigh often,
which prophecy was received in various ways and called forth widely
differing comment. Red had snorted outright and Pete swore to learn
that a woman was on the range; for Pete had been married, and his wife
preferred another man. Hopalong, remembering a former experience of
his own, smiled in knowing cynicism when told that he again would fall
under the feminine spell.

Red was near the river and Johnny half-way to the hills when Hopalong
began the ascent of Long Hill, wondering why it was that Meeker had
made no attempt to cross the boundary in force and bring on a crisis;
and from Meeker his mind turned to the daughter.

"So there's a woman down here now," he muttered, riding down into an
arroyo and up the other bank. "This country is gettin' as bad as
Kansas, d----d if it ain't. First thing we know it'll be nursin'
bottles an' school houses, an' h--l loose all th' time instead of once
in a while."

He heard hoofbeats and glanced up quickly, alert and ready for
trouble, for who would be riding where he was but some H2 puncher?

"What th'----!" he exclaimed under his breath, for riding towards him
at an angle was Mary Meeker; and Johnny was wrong in his description
of her, but, he thought, the Kid had done as well as his limited
vocabulary would allow. She _was_ pretty, pretty as--she was more than
pretty!

She had seen him at the same time and flashed a quick glance which
embraced everything; and she was surprised, for he was not only
passably good-looking, barring the red hair, but very different from
the men her father had told her made up the outfit of the Bar-20. He
removed his sombrero instantly and drew up to let her pass, a queer
expression on his face. Yes, he thought, Johnny had wronged her, for
no other woman could have such jet-black hair crowning such a face.

"By God!" he whispered, and went no farther, for that was the summing
up of his whole opinion of her.

"He _is_ a gentleman," she thought triumphantly, for he had proved
that she was right in her surmise regarding the men of the northern
ranch. She spurred to pass him and then her piebald took part in the
proceedings. The prick of the spur awakened in him a sudden desire to
assert his rights, and he promptly pitched to make up for his hitherto
gentle behavior. So taken up with what the last minute had brought
forth she was unprepared for the vicious bucking and when she opened
her eyes her head was propped against Hopalong's knee and her face
dripping with the contents of his canteen.

"D--n yore ugly skin!" he was saying to the piebald, which stood
quietly a short distance away, evidently enjoying the result of his
activity. "Just you wait! I'll show you what's due to come yore way
purty soon!" He turned again to the woman and saw that her eyes were
closed as before. "By God, yore--yore beautiful!" he exclaimed
triumphantly, for he had found the word at last.

She moved slightly and color came into her cheeks with a sudden rush
and he watched her anxiously. Soon she moved again and then, opening
her eyes, struggled to gain her feet. He helped her up and held her
until she drew away from him.

"What was it?" she asked.

"That ugly cayuse went an' pitched when you wasn't lookin' for it," he
told her. "Are you hurt much?"

"No, just dizzy. I don't want to make you no trouble," she replied.

"You ain't makin' me any trouble, not a bit," he assured her
earnestly. "But I'd like to make some trouble for that ornery cayuse
of yourn. Let me tone him down some."

"No; it was my fault. I should 'a been looking--I never rode him
before."

"Well, you've got to take my cayuse to get home on," he said. "He's
bad, but he's a regular angel when stacked up agin that bronc. I'll
ride the festive piebald, an' we can trade when you get home." Under
his breath he said, "Oh, just wait till I get on you, you wall-eyed
pinto! I'll give you what you need, all right!"

"Thank you, but I can ride him now that I know just what he is," she
said, her eyes flashing with determination. "I've never let a bronc
get th' best of me in th' long run, an' I ain't goin' to begin now. I
came up here to look at th' hills an' th' valley, an' I'm not going
back home till I've done it."

"That's th' way to talk!" he cried in admiration. "I'll get him for
you," he finished, swinging into his saddle. He loosened the lariat at
the saddle horn while he rode towards the animal, which showed sudden
renewed interest in the proceedings, but it tarried too long. Just as
it wheeled and leaped forward the rope settled and the next thing it
knew was that the sky had somehow slid under its stomach, for it had
been thrown over backward and flat on its back. When it had struggled
to its feet it found Hopalong astride it, spurring vigorously on the
side farthest from Mary, and for five minutes the air was greatly
disturbed. At the end of that time he dismounted and led a penitent
pony to its mistress, who vaulted lightly into the saddle and waited
for her companion to mount. When he had joined her they rode up the
hill together side by side.

Johnny, shortly after he had passed Hopalong on the line, wished to
smoke and felt for his tobacco pouch, which he found to be empty. He
rode on for a short distance, angry with himself for his neglect, and
then remembered that Hopalong had a plentiful supply. He could
overtake the man on the hill much quicker than he could Red, who had
said that he was going to ride south along the river to see if Jumping
Bear Creek was dry. If it were, Meeker could be expected to become
active in his aggression. Johnny wheeled and cantered back along the
boundary trail, alertly watching for trespassing cattle.

It was not long before he came within sight of the thicket which stood
a little east of the base of Long Hill, and he nearly fell from the
saddle in astonishment, for his friend was on the ground, holding a
woman's head on his knee! Johnny didn't care to intrude, and
cautiously withdrew to the shelter of the small chaparral, where he
waited impatiently. Wishing to stretch his legs, he dismounted and
picketed his horse and walked around the thicket until satisfied that
he was out of sight of his friend.

Suddenly he fancied that he heard something suspicious and he crept
back around the thicket, keeping close to its base. When he turned the
corner he saw the head of a man on the other side of the chaparral
which lay a little southwest of his position. It was Antonio, and he
was intently watching the two on the slope of the hill, and entirely
unaware that he was being watched in turn.

Johnny carefully drew his Colt and covered the Mexican, for he hated
"Greasers" instinctively, but on Antonio he lavished a hatred far
above the stock kind. He had seen the shifty-eyed broncho-buster on
more than one occasion and never without struggling with himself to
keep from shooting. Now his finger pressed gently against the trigger
of the weapon and he wished for a passable excuse to send the other
into eternity; but Antonio gave him no cause, only watching eagerly
and intently, his face set in such an expression of malignancy as to
cause Johnny's finger to tremble.

Johnny arose slightly until he could see Hopalong and his companion
and he smothered an exclamation. "Gosh A'mighty!" he whispered, again
watching the Mexican. "That's Meeker's gal or I'm a liar! Th'
son-of-a-gun, keeping quiet about it all this time. An' no wonder th'
Greaser's on th' trail!"

It was not long before Johnny looked again for Hopalong and saw him
riding up the hill with his companion. Then he crept forward, watching
the Mexican closely, his Colt ready for instant use. Antonio slowly
drew down until he was lost to sight of the Bar-20 puncher, who ran
swiftly forward and gained the side of the other thicket, where he
again crept forward, and around the chaparral. When he next caught
sight of the broncho-buster the latter was walking towards his horse
and his back was turned to Johnny.

"Hey, you!" called the Bar-20 puncher, arising and starting after the
other.

Antonio wheeled, leaped to one side and half drew his revolver, but he
was covered and he let the weapon slide back into the holster.

"What was you doing?"

Antonio's reply was a scowl and his inquisitor continued without
waiting for words from the other.

"Never mind that, for I saw what you was doing," Johnny said. "An' I
shore knew what you wanted to do, because I came near doing it to you.
Now it ain't a whole lot healthy for you to go snooping around this
line like you was, for I'll plug you on suspicion next time. Get on
that cayuse of yourn an' hit th' trail south--go on, make tracks!"

The Mexican mounted and slowly wheeled. "You hab drop, now," he said
significantly. "Nex' time, _quien sabe_?"

Johnny dropped his Colt into the holster and removed his hand from the
butt. "You're a liar!" he shouted, savagely. "I ain't got th' drop.
It's an even break, an' what are you going to do about it?"

Antonio shrugged his shoulders and rode on without replying, quite
content to let things stand as they were. He had learned something
which he might be able to use to advantage later on and he had
strained the situation just a little more.

"Huh! Next time!" snorted Johnny in contempt as he turned to go back
to his horse. "It'll allus be 'nex' time' with that Greaser, 'less he
gets a good pot shot at me, which he won't. He ain't got sand enough
to put up a square fight. Now for Red; he'll shore be riding this way
purty soon, an' that'll never do. Hoppy won't want anybody foolin'
around th' hills for a while, lucky devil."

More than an hour had passed before he met Red and he forthwith told
him that he had caught the Mexican scouting on foot along the line.

"I ain't none surprised, Kid," Red replied, frowning. "You've seen how
th' H2 cows are being driven north agin us an' that means we'll be
tolerable busy purty soon. Th' Jumping Bear is dry as tinder, an' it
won't be long before Meeker'll be driving to get in th' valley."

"Well, I'm some glad of that," Johnny replied, frankly. "It's been
peaceful too blamed long down here. Come on, we'll ride east an' see
if we can find any cows to turn. Hey! Look there!" he cried, spurring
forward.

THE ROUNDUP

The Texan sky seemed a huge mirror upon which were reflected the white
fleecy clouds sailing northward; the warm spring air was full of that
magnetism which calls forth from their earthy beds the gramma grass
and the flowers; the scant vegetation had taken on new dress and
traces of green now showed against the more sombre-colored stems;
while in the distance, rippling in glistening patches where, disturbed
by the wind, the river sparkled like a tinsel ribbon flung carelessly
on the grays and greens of the plain. Birds winged their joyous way
and filled the air with song; and far overhead a battalion of tardy
geese flew, arrow-like, towards the cool lakes of the north, their
faint honking pathetic and continuous. Skulking in the coulees or
speeding across the skyline of some distant rise occasionally could be
seen a coyote or gray wolf. The cattle, less gregarious than they had
been in the colder months, made tentative sorties from the lessening
herd, and began to stray off in search of the tender green grass which
pushed up recklessly from the closely cropped, withered tufts.
Rattlesnakes slid out and uncoiled their sinuous lengths in the warm
sunlight, and copperheads raised their burnished armor from their
winter retreats. All nature had felt the magic touch of the warm
winds, and life in its multitudinous forms was discernible on all
sides. The gaunt tragedy of a hard winter for that southern range had
added its chilling share to the horrors of the past and now the cattle
took heart and lost their weakness in the sunlight, hungry but
contented.

The winter had indeed been hard, one to be remembered for years to
come, and many cattle had died because of it; many skeletons, stripped
clean by coyotes and wolves, dotted the arroyos and coulees. The cold
weather had broken suddenly, and several days of rain, followed by
sleet, had drenched the cattle thoroughly. Then from out of the north
came one of those unusual rages of nature, locally known as a
"Norther," freezing pitilessly; and the cattle, weakened by cold and
starvation, had dumbly succumbed to this last blow. Their backs were
covered with an icy shroud, and the deadly cold gripped their vitals
with a power not to be resisted. A glittering sheet formed over the
grasses as far as eye could see, and the cattle, unlike the horses,
not knowing enough to stamp through it, nosed in vain at the
sustenance beneath, until weakness compelled them to lie down in the
driving snow, and once down, they never arose. The storm had raged for
the greater part of a week, and then suddenly one morning the sun
shown down on a velvety plain, blinding in its whiteness; and when
spring had sent the snow mantle roaring through the arroyos and water
courses in a turmoil of yellow water and driftwood, and when the range
riders rode forth to read the losses on the plain, the remaining
cattle were staggering weakly in search of food. Skeletons in the
coulees told the story of the hopeless fight, how the unfortunate
cattle had drifted before the wind to what shelter they could find and
how, huddled together for warmth, they had died one by one. The valley
along Conroy Creek had provided a rough shelter with its scattered
groves and these had stopped the cattle drift, so much dreaded by
cowmen.

It had grieved Buck Peters and his men to the heart to see so many
cattle swept away in one storm, but they had done all that courage and
brains could do to save them. So now, when the plain was green again
and the warm air made riding a joy, they were to hold the calf
roundup. When Buck left his blanket after the first night spent in the
roundup camp and rode off to the horse herd, he smiled from suppressed
elation, and was glad that he was alive.

Peaceful as the scene appeared there was trouble brewing, and it was
in expectation of this that Buck had begun the roundup earlier than
usual. The unreasoning stubbornness of one man, and the cunning
machinations of a natural rogue, threatened to bring about, from what
should have been only a misunderstanding, as pretty a range war as the
Southwest had seen. Those immediately involved were only a few when
compared to the number which might eventually be brought into the
strife, but if this had been pointed out to Jim Meeker he would have
replied that he "didn't give a d--n."

Jim Meeker was a Montana man who thought to carry out on the H2 range,
of which he was foreman, the same system of things which had served
where he had come from. This meant trouble right away, for the Bar-20,
already short in range, would not stand idly by and see him encroach
upon their land for grass and water, more especially when he broke a
solemn compact as to range rights which had been made by the former
owners of the H2 with the Bar-20. It meant not only the forcible use
of Bar-20 range, but also a great hardship upon the herds for which
Buck Peters was responsible.

Meeker's obstinacy was covertly prodded by Antonio for his own
personal gains, but this the Bar-20 foreman did not know; if he had
known it there would have been much trouble averted, and one more
Mexican sent to the spirit world.

Buck Peters was probably the only man of all of them who realized just
what such a war would mean, to what an extent rustling would flourish
while the cowmen fought. His best efforts had been used to avert
trouble, so far successfully; but that he would continue to do so was
doubtful. He had an outfit which, while meaning to obey him in all
things and to turn from any overt act of war, was not of the kind to
stand much forcing or personal abuse; their nervous systems were
constructed on the hair-trigger plan, and their very loyalty might set
the range ablaze with war. However, on this most perfect of mornings
Meeker's persistent aggression did not bother him, he was free from
worry for the time.

Just north of Big Coulee, in which was a goodly sized water hole, a
group of blanket-swathed figures lay about a fire near the chuck
wagon, while the sleepy cook prepared breakfast for his own outfit,
and for the eight men which the foreman of the C80 and the Double
Arrow had insisted upon Buck taking. The sun had not yet risen, but
the morning glow showed gray over the plain, and it would not be long
before the increasing daylight broke suddenly. The cook fires crackled
and blazed steadily, the iron pots hissing under their dancing and
noisy lids, while the coffee pots bubbled and sent up an aromatic
steam, and the odor of freshly baked biscuits swept forth as the cook
uncovered a pan. A pile of tin plates was stacked on the tail-board of
the wagon while a large sheet-iron pail contained tin cups. The
figures, feet to the fire, looked like huge, grotesque cocoons, for
the men had rolled themselves in their blankets, their heads resting
on their saddles, and in many cases folded sombreros next to the
leather made softer pillows.

Back of the chuck wagon the eastern sky grew rapidly brighter, and
suddenly daylight in all its power dissipated the grayish light of the
moment before. As the rim of the golden sun arose above the low sand
hills to the east the foreman rode into camp. Some distance behind him
Harry Jones and two other C80 men drove up the horse herd and enclosed
it in a flimsy corral quickly extemporized from lariats; flimsy it
was, but it sufficed for cow-ponies that had learned the lesson of the
rope.

"All ready, Buck," called Harry before his words were literally true.

With assumed ferocity but real vociferation Buck uttered a shout and
watched the effect. The cocoons became animated, stirred and rapidly
unrolled, with the exception of one, and the sleepers leaped to their
feet and folded the blankets. The exception stirred, subsided, stirred
again and then was quiet. Buck and Red stepped forward while the
others looked on grinning to see the fun, grasped the free end of the
blanket and suddenly straightened up, their hands going high above
their heads. Johnny Nelson, squawking, rolled over and over and, with
a yell of surprise, sat bolt upright and felt for his gun.

"Huh!" he snorted. "Reckon yo're smart, don't you!"

"Purty near a shore 'nuf pin-wheel, Kid," laughed Red.

"Don't you care, Johnny; you can finish it to-night," consoled Frenchy
McAllister, now one of Buck's outfit.

"Breakfast, Kid, breakfast!" sang out Hopalong as he finished drying
his face.

The breakfast was speedily out of the way, and pipes were started for
a short smoke as the punchers walked over to the horse herd to make
their selections. By exercising patience, profanity, and perseverance
they roped their horses and began to saddle up. Ed Porter, of the
C80, and Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, cast their ropes with a sweeping,
preliminary whirl over their heads, but the others used only a quick
flit and twist of the wrist. A few mildly exciting struggles for the
mastery took place between riders and mounts, for some cow-ponies are
not always ready to accept their proper place in the scheme of things.

"Slab-sided jumpin' jack!" yelled Rich Finn, a Double Arrow puncher,
as he fought his horse. "Allus raisin' th' devil afore I'm all awake!"

"Lemme hold her head, Rich," jeered Billy Williams.

"Her laigs, Billy, not her head," corrected Lanky Smith, the Bar-20
rope expert, whose own horse had just become sensible.

"Don't hurt him, bronc; we need him," cautioned Red.

"Come on, fellers; gettin' late," called Buck.

Away they went, tearing across the plain, Buck in the lead. After some
time had passed the foreman raised his arm and Pete Wilson stopped and
filled his pipe anew, the west-end man of the cordon. Again Buck's arm
went up and Skinny Thompson dropped out, and so on until the last man
had been placed and the line completed. At a signal from Buck the
whole line rode forward, gradually converging on a central point and
driving the scattered cattle before it.

Hopalong, on the east end of the line, sharing with Billy the posts of
honor, was now kept busy dashing here and there, wheeling, stopping,
and manoeuvring as certain strong-minded cattle, preferring the
freedom of the range they had just quitted, tried to break through the
cordon. All but branded steers and cows without calves had their
labors in vain, although the escape of these often set examples for
ambitious cows with calves. Here was where reckless and expert riding
saved the day, for the cow-ponies, trained in the art of punching
cows, entered into the game with zest and executed quick turns which
more than once threatened a catastrophe to themselves and riders.
Range cattle can run away from their domesticated kin, covering the
ground with an awkward gait that is deceiving; but the ponies can run
faster and turn as quickly.

Hopalong, determined to turn back one stubborn mother cow, pushed her
too hard, and she wheeled to attack him. Again the nimble pony had
reason to move quickly and Hopalong swore as he felt the horns touch
his leg.

"On th' prod, hey! Well, stay on it!" he shouted, well knowing that
she would. "Pig-headed old fool--_all right_, Johnny; I'm comin'!" and
he raced away to turn a handful of cows which were proving too much
for his friend. _"Ki-yi-yeow-eow-eow-eow-eow!"_ he yelled, imitating
the coyote howl.

The cook had moved his wagon as soon as breakfast was over and
journeyed southeast with the cavvieyh; and as the cordon neared its
objective the punchers could see his camp about half a mile from the
level pasture where the herd would be held for the cutting-out and
branding. Cookie regarded himself as the most important unit of the
roundup and acted accordingly, and he was not far wrong.

"Hey, Hoppy!" called Johnny through the dust of the herd, "there's
cookie. I was 'most scared he'd get lost."

"Can't you think of anythin' else but grub?" asked Billy Jordan from
the rear.

"Can you tell me anything better to think of?"

There were from three to four thousand cattle in the herd when it
neared the stopping point, and dust arose in low-hanging clouds above
it. Its pattern of differing shades of brown, with yellow and black
and white relieving it, constantly shifted like a kaleidoscope as the
cattle changed positions; and the rattle of horns on horns and the
muffled bellowing could be heard for many rods.

Gradually the cordon surrounded the herd and, when the destination was
reached, the punchers rode before the front ranks of cattle and
stopped them. There was a sudden tremor, a compactness in the herd,
and the cattle in the rear crowded forward against those before;
another tremor, and the herd was quiet. Cow-punchers took their places
around it, and kept the cattle from breaking out and back to the
range, while every second man, told off by the foreman, raced at top
speed towards the camp, there to eat a hasty dinner and get a fresh
horse from his _remuda_, as his string of from five to seven horses
was called. Then he galloped back to the herd and relieved his nearest
neighbor. When all had reassembled at the herd the work of cutting-out
began.

Lanky Smith, Panhandle Lukins, and two more Bar-20 men rode some
distance east of the herd, there to take care of the cow-and-calf cut
as it grew by the cutting-out. Hopalong, Red, Johnny, and three others
were assigned to the task of getting the mother cows and their calves
out of the main herd and into the new one, while the other punchers
held the herd and took care of the stray herd when they should be
needed. Each of the cutters-out rode after some calf, and the victim,
led by its mother, worked its way after her into the very heart of the
mass; and in getting the pair out again care must be taken not to
unduly excite the other cattle. Wiry, happy, and conceited cow-ponies
unerringly and patiently followed mother and calf into the press,
nipping the pursued when too slow and gradually forcing them to the
outer edge of the herd; and when the mother tried to lead its
offspring back into the herd to repeat the performance, she was in
almost every case cleverly blocked and driven out on the plain where
the other punchers took charge of her and added her to the
cow-and-calf cut.

Johnny jammed his sombrero on his head with reckless strength and
swore luridly as he wheeled to go back into the herd.

"What's th' matter, Kid?" laughingly asked Skinny as he turned his
charges over to another man.

"None of yore d----d business!" blazed Johnny. Under his breath he
made a resolve. "If I get you two out here again I'll keep you here if
I have to shoot you!"

"Are they slippery, Johnny?" jibed Red, whose guess was correct.
Johnny refused to heed such asinine remarks and stood on his dignity.

As the cow-and-calf herd grew in size and the main herd dwindled, more
punchers were shifted to hold it; and it was not long before the main
herd was comprised entirely of cattle without calves, when it was
driven off to freedom after being examined for other brands. As soon
as the second herd became of any size it was not necessary to drive
the cows and calves to it when they were driven out of the first herd,
as they made straight for it. The main herd, driven away, broke up as
it would, while the guarded cows stood idly beside their resting
offspring awaiting further indignities.

The drive had covered so much ground and taken so much time that
approaching darkness warned Buck not to attempt the branding until the
morrow, and he divided his force into three shifts. Two of these
hastened to the camp, gulped down their supper, and rolling into their
blankets, were soon sound asleep. The horse herd was driven off to
where the grazing was better, and night soon fell over the plain.

The cook's fires gleamed through the darkness and piles of biscuits
were heaped on the tail-board of the wagon, while pots of beef and
coffee simmered over the fires, handy for the guards as they rode in
during the night to awaken brother punchers, who would take their
places while they slept. Soon the cocoons were quiet in the grotesque
shadows caused by the fires and a deep silence reigned over the camp.
Occasionally some puncher would awaken long enough to look at the sky
to see if the weather had changed, and satisfied, return to sleep.

Over the plain sleepy cowboys rode slowly around the herd, glad to be
relieved by some other member of the outfit, who always sang as he
approached the cattle to reassure them and save a possible stampede.
For cattle, if suddenly disturbed at night by anything, even the
waving of a slicker in the hands of some careless rider, or a
wind-blown paper, will rise in a body--all up at once, frightened and
nervous. The sky was clear and the stars bright and when the moon rose
it flooded the plain with a silvery light and made fairy patterns in
the shadows.

Snatches of song floated down the gentle wind as the riders slowly
circled the herd, for the human voice, no matter how discordant, was
quieting. A low and plaintive "Don't let this par-ting grieve y-o-u"
passed from hearing around the resting cows, soon to be followed by
"When-n in thy dream-ing, nights like t-h-e-s-e shall come a-gain--"
as another watcher made the circuit. The serene cows, trusting in the
prowess and vigilance of these low-voiced centaurs to protect them
from danger, dozed and chewed their cuds in peace and quiet, while the
natural noises of the night relieved the silence in unobtruding
harmony.

Far out on the plain a solitary rider watched the herd from cover and
swore because it was guarded so closely. He glanced aloft to see if
there was any hope of a storm and finding that there was not,
muttered savagely and rode away. It was Antonio, wishing that he
could start a stampede and so undo the work of the day and inflict
heavy losses on the Bar-20. He did not dare to start a grass fire for
at the first flicker of a light he would be charged by one or more of
the night riders and if caught, death would be his reward.

While the third shift rode and sang the eastern sky became a dome of
light reflected from below and the sunrise, majestic in all its fiery
splendor, heralded the birth of another perfect day.

Through the early morning hours the branding continued, and the
bleating of the cattle told of the hot stamping irons indelibly
burning the sign of the Bar-20 on the tender hides of calves. Mother
cows fought and plunged and called in reply to the terrified bawling
of their offspring, and sympathetically licked the burns when the
frightened calves had been allowed to join them. Cowboys were deftly
roping calves by their hind legs and dragging them to the fires of the
branding men. Two men would hold a calf, one doubling the foreleg back
on itself at the knee and the other, planting one booted foot against
the calf's under hind leg close to its body, pulled back on the other
leg while his companion, who held the foreleg, rested on the animal's
head. The third man, drawing the hot iron from the fire, raised and
held it suspended for a second over the calf's flank, and then there
was an odor and a puff of smoke; and the calf was branded with a mark
which neither water nor age would wipe out.

Pete Wilson came riding up dragging a calf at the end of his rope,
and turned the captive over to Billy Williams and his two helpers,
none of them paying any attention to the cow which followed a short
distance behind him. Lanky seized the unfortunate calf and leaned over
to secure the belly hold, when someone shouted a warning and he
dropped the struggling animal and leaped back and to one side as the
mother charged past. Wheeling to return the attack, the cow suddenly
flopped over and struck the earth with a thud as Buck's rope went
home. He dragged her away and then releasing her, chased her back into
the herd.

"_Hi!_ Get that little devil!" shouted Billy to Hopalong, pointing to
the fleeing calf.

"Why didn't you watch for her, you half-breed!" demanded the indignant
Lanky of Pete. "Do you think this is a ten-pin alley!"

Hopalong came riding up with the calf, which swiftly became recorded
property.

"Bar-20; tally one," sang out the monotonous voice of the tally-man.
"Why didn't you grab her when she went by, Lanky?" he asked, putting a
new point on his pencil.

"Hope th' next one heads yore way!" retorted Lanky, grinning.

"Won't. I ain't abusin' th' kids."

"Bar-20; tally one," droned a voice at the next fire.

All was noise, laughter, dust, and a seeming confusion, but every man
knew his work thoroughly and was doing it in a methodical way, and the
confusion was confined to the victims and their mothers.

When the herd had been branded and allowed to return to the plain, the
outfit moved on into a new territory and the work was repeated until
the whole range, with the exception of the valley, had been covered.
When the valley was worked it required more time in comparison with
the amount of ground covered than had been heretofore spent on any
part of the range; for the cattle were far more numerous, and it was
no unusual thing to have a herd of great size before the roundup place
had been reached. This heavy increase in the numbers of the cattle to
be herded made a corresponding increase in the time and labor required
for the cutting-out and branding. Five days were required in working
the eastern and central parts of the valley and it took three more
days to clean up around the White Horse Hills, where the ground was
rougher and the riding harder. And at every cutting-out there was a
large stray-herd made up of H2 and Three Triangle cattle. The H2 had
been formerly the Three Triangle. Buck had been earnest in his
instructions to his men regarding the strays, for now was the
opportunity to rid his range of Meeker's cattle in a way natural and
without especial significance; once over the line it would be a
comparatively easy matter to keep them there.

For taking care of this extra herd and also because Buck courted
scrutiny during the branding, the foreman accepted the services of
three H2 men. This addition to his forces made the work move somewhat
more rapidly and when, at the end of each day's cutting-out, the
stray herd was complete, it was driven south across the boundary line
by Meeker's men. When the last stray-herd started south Buck rode over
to the H2 punchers and told them to tell their foreman to let him know
when he could assist in the southern roundup and thus return the
favor.

As the Bar-20 outfit and the C80 and Double Arrow men rode north
towards the ranch house they were met by Lucas, foreman of the C80,
who joined them near Medicine Bend.

"Well, got it all over, hey?" he cried as he rode up.

"Yep; bigger job than I thought, too. It gets bigger every year an'
that blizzard didn't make much difference in th' work, neither," Buck
replied. "I'll help you out when you get ready to drive."

"No you won't; you can help me an' Bartlett more by keeping all yore
men watchin' that line," quickly responded Lucas. "We'll work
together, me an' Bartlett, an' we'll have all th' men we want. You
just show that man Meeker that range grabbin' ain't healthy down
here--that's all we want. Did he send you any help in th' valley?"

"Yes, three men," Buck replied. "But we'll break even on that when he
works along th' boundary."

"Have any trouble with 'em?"

"Not a bit."

"I sent Wood Wright down to Eagle th' other day, an' he says th' town
is shore there'll be a big range war," remarked Lucas. "He said
there's lots of excitement down there an' they act like they wish th'
trouble would hurry up an' happen. We've got to watch that town, all
right."

"If there's a war th' rustlers'll flock here from all over,"
interposed Rich Finn.

"Huh!" snorted Hopalong. "They'll flock out again if we get a chance
to look for 'em. An' that town'll shore get into trouble if it don't
live plumb easy. You know what happened th' last time rustlin' got to
be th' style, don't you?"

"Well," replied Lucas, "I've fixed it with Cowan to get news to me an'
Bartlett if anything sudden comes up. If you need us just let him know
an' we'll be with you in two shakes."

"That's good, but I don't reckon I'll need any help, leastwise not for
a long time," Buck responded. "But I tell you what you might do, when
you can; make up a vigilance committee from yore outfits an' ride
range for rustlers. We can take care of all that comes on us, but we
won't have no time to bother about th' rest of th' range. An' if you
do that it'll shut 'em out of our north range."

"We'll do it," Lucas promised. "Bartlett is going to watch th' trails
north to see if he can catch anybody runnin' cattle to th' railroad
construction camps. Every suspicious lookin' stranger is going to be
held up an' asked questions; an' if we find any runnin' irons, you
know what that means."

"I reckon we can handle th' situation, all right, no matter how hard
it gets," laughed the Bar-20 foreman.

"Well, I'll be leavin' you now," Lucas remarked as they reached the
Bar-20 bunk house. "We begin to round up next week, an' there's lots
to be done before then. Say, can I use yore chuck wagon? Mine is shore
done for."

"Why, of course," replied Buck heartily. "Take it now, if you want, or
any time you send for it."

"Much obliged; come on, fellers," Lucas cried to his men. "We're goin'
home."

CHAPTER IV

IN WEST ARROYO

Hopalong was heading for Lookout Peak, the highest of the White Horse
Hills, by way of West Arroyo, which he entered half an hour after he
had forded the creek, and was half way to the line when, rounding a
sharp turn, he saw Mary Meeker ahead of him. She was off her horse
picking flowers when she heard him and she stood erect, smiling.

"Why, I didn't think I'd see you," she said. "I've been picking
flowers--see them? Ain't they pretty?" she asked, holding them out for
his inspection.

"They shore are," he replied, not looking at the flowers at all, but
into her big, brown eyes. "An' they're some lucky, too," he asserted,
grinning.

She lowered her head, burying her face in the blossoms and then picked
a few petals and let them fall one by one from her fingers. "You
didn't look at them at all," she chided.

"Oh, yes, I did," he laughed. "But I see flowers all th' time, and not
much of you."

"That's nice--they are so pretty. I just love them."

"Yes. I reckon they are," doubtfully.

She looked up at him, her eyes laughing and her white teeth glistening
between their red frames. "Why don't you scold me?" she asked.

"Scold you! What for?"

"Why, for being on yore ranch, for being across th' line an' in th'
valley."

"Good Lord! Why, there ain't no lines for you! You can go anywhere."

"In th' valley?" she asked, again hiding her face in the flowers.

"Why, of course. What ever made you think you can't?"

"I'm one of th' H2," she responded. "Paw says I run it. But I'm awful
glad you won't care."

"Well, as far as riding where you please is concerned, you run this
ranch, too."

"There's a pretty flower," she said, looking at the top of the bank.
"That purple one; see it?" she asked, pointing.

"Yes. I'll get it for you," he replied, leaping from the saddle and
half way up the bank before she knew it. He slid down again and handed
the blossom to her. "There."

"Thank you."

"See any more you wants?"

"No; this is enough. Thank you for getting it for me."

"Oh, shucks; that was nothing," he laughed awkwardly. "That was shore
easy."

"I'm going to give it to you for not scolding me about being over th'
line," she said, holding it out to him.

"No; not for that," he said slowly. "Can't you think of some other
reason?"

"Don't you want it?"

"Want it!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "Shore I want it. But not for what
you said."

"Will you wear it because we're friends?"

"Now yo're talking!"

She looked up and laughed, her cheeks dimpling, and then pinned it to
his shirt, while he held his breath lest the inflation of his lungs
bother her. It was nice to have a flower pinned on one's shirt by a
pretty girl.

"There," she laughed, stepping back to look at it.

"Gosh!" he complained, ruefully. "You've pinned it up so high I can't
see it. Why not put it lower down?"

She changed it while he grinned at how his scheming had born fruit. He
was a hog, he knew that, but he did not care.

"Oh, I reckon _I'm_ all right!" he exulted. "Shore you don't see no
more you want?"

"Yes; an' I must go now," she replied, going towards her horse. "I'll
be late with th' dinner if I don't hurry."

"What! Do you cook for that hungry outfit?"

"No, not for them--just for Paw an' me."

"When are you comin' up again for more flowers?"

"I don't know. You see, I'm going to make cookies some day this week,
but I don't know just when. Do you like cookies, an' cake?"

"You bet I do! Why?"

"I'll bring some with me th' next time. Paw says they're th' best he
ever ate."

"Bet I'll say so, too," he replied, stepping forward to help her into
the saddle, but she sprang into it before he reached her side, and he
vaulted on his own horse and joined her.

She suddenly turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "Tell me,
honest, has yore ranch any right to keep our cows south of that line?"

"Yes, we have. Our boundaries are fixed. We gave th' Three Triangle
about eighty square miles of range so our valley would be free from
all cows but our own. That's all th' land between th' line an' th'
Jumping Bear, an' it was a big price, too. They never drove a cow over
on us."

She looked disappointed and toyed with her quirt.

"Why don't you want to let Paw use th' valley?"

"It ain't big enough for our own cows, an' we can't share it. As it
is, we'll have to drive ten thousand on leased range next year to give
our grass a rest."

"Well,--" she stopped and he waited to hear what she would say, and
then asked her when she would be up again.

"I don't know! I don't know!" she cried.

"Why, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm foolish--that's all," she replied, smiling, and trying
to forget the picture which arose in her mind, a picture of desperate
fighting along the line; of her father--and him.

"You scared me then," he said.

"Did I? Why, it wasn't anything."

"Are you shore?"

"Please don't ask me any questions," she requested.

"Will you be up here again soon?"

"If th' baking turns out all right."

"Hang the baking! come anyway."

"I'll try; but I'm afraid," she faltered.

"Of what?" he demanded, sitting up very straight.

"Why, that I can't," she replied, hurriedly. "You see, it's far coming
up here."

"That's easy. I'll meet you west of th' hills."

"No, no! I'll come up here."

"Look here," he said, slowly and kindly. "If yo're afraid of bein'
seen with me, don't you try it. I want to see you a whole lot, but I
don't want you to have no trouble with yore father about it. I can
wait till everything is all right if you want me to."

She turned and faced him, her cheeks red. "No, it ain't that, exactly.
Don't ask me any more. Don't talk about it. I'll come, all right, just
as soon as I can."

They were on the line now and she held out her hand.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye for now. Try to come up an' see me as soon as you can. If
yo're worryin' because that Greaser don't like me, stop it. I've been
in too many tight places to get piped out where there's elbow room."

"I asked you not to say nothing more about it," she chided. "I'll come
when I can. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," he replied, his sombrero under his arm. He watched her
until she became lost to sight and then, suspicious, wheeled, and saw
Johnny sitting quietly on his horse several hundred yards away. He
called his friend to him by one wide sweep of his arm and Johnny
spurred forward.

"Follow me, Johnny," he cried, dashing towards the arroyo. "Take th'
other side an' look for that Greaser. I'll take this side. Edge off;
yo're too close. Three hundred yards is about right."

They raced away at top speed, reckless and grim, Johnny not knowing
just what it was all about; but the word Greaser needed no sauce to
whet his appetite since the day he had caught Antonio watching his
friend on the hill, and he scanned the plain eagerly. When they
reached the other end of the arroyo Hopalong called to him: "Sweep
east an' back to th' line on a circle. If you catch him, shoot off
yore Colt an' hold him for _me_. I'm going west."

When they saw each other again it was on the line, and neither had
seen any traces of Antonio, to Johnny's vexation and Hopalong's great
satisfaction.

"What's up, Hoppy?" shouted Johnny.

"I reckoned that Greaser might 'a followed her so he could tell tales
to Meeker," Hopalong called.

Johnny swept up recklessly, jauntily, a swagger almost in the very
actions of his horse, which seemed to have caught the spirit of its
rider.

"Caught you that time," he laughed--and Johnny, when in a teasing
mood, could weave into his laughter an affectionate note which found
swift pardon for any words he might utter. "You an' her shore make a
good--" and then he saw the flower on his friend's shirt and for the
moment was rendered speechless by surprise. But in him the faculty of
speech was well developed and he recovered quickly. "Sufferin'
coyotes! Would you look at that! What's comin' to us down here,
anyway? Are you loco? Do you mean to let th' rest of th' outfit see
_that_?"

"Calamity is comin' to th' misguided mavericks that get gay about it!"
retorted Hopalong. "I wear what I feels like, an' don't you forget it,
neither."

"'In thy d-a-r-k eyes splendor, where th' l-o-v-e light longs to
dwel-l,'" Johnny hummed, grinning. Then his hand went out. "Good luck,
Hoppy! Th' best of luck!" he cried. "She's a dandy, all right, but she
ain't too good for you."

"Much obliged," Hopalong replied, shaking hands. "But suppose you tell
me what all th' good luck is for. To hear you talk anybody'd think all
a feller had to do was to ride with a woman to be married to her."

"Well, then take off that wart of a flower an' come on," Johnny
responded.

"What? Not to save yore spotted soul! An' that ain't no wart of a
flower, neither."

Johnny burst out laughing, a laugh from the soul of him, welling up in
infectious spontaneity, triumphant and hearty. "Oh, oh! You bit that
time! Anybody'd think about right in yore case, as far as _wantin'_
to be married is concerned. Why, yo're hittin' th' lovely trail to
matri-mony as hard as you can."

In spite of himself Hopalong had to laugh at the jibing of his friend,
the Kid. He thumped him heartily across the shoulders to show how he
felt about it and Johnny's breath was interfered with at a critical
moment.

"Oh, just wait till th' crowd sees that blossom! Just wait," Johnny
coughed.

"You keep mum about what you saw, d'y' hear?"

"Shore; but it'll be on my mind all th' time, an' I talk in my sleep
when anything's on my mind."

"Then that's why I never heard you talk in yore sleep."

"Aw, g'wan! But they'll see th' flower, won't they?"

"Shore they will; but as long as they don't know how it got there they
can't say much."

"They can't, hey!" Johnny exclaimed. "That's a new one on me. It's
usually what they don't know about that they talks of most. What they
don't know they can guess in this case, all right. Most of 'em are
good on readin' signs, an' that's plain as th' devil."

"But don't you tell 'em!" Hopalong warned.

"No. I won't tell 'em, honest," Johnny replied. He could convey the
information in a negative way and he grinned hopefully at the fun
there would be.

"I mean it, Kid," Hopalong responded, reading the grin. "I don't care
about myself; they can joke all they wants with me. But it ain't
nowise right to drag her into it, savvy? She don't want to be talked
about like that."

"Yo're right; they won't find out nothin' from me," and Johnny saw his
fun slip from him. "I'm goin' east; comin' along?"

"No; th' other way. So long."

"Hey!" cried Johnny anxiously, drawing rein, "Frenchy said Buck was
going to put some of us up in Number Five so Frenchy an' his four
could ride th' line. Did Buck say anything to you about it?"

Line house Number Five was too far from the zone of excitement, if
fighting should break out along the line, to please Johnny.

"He was stringin' you, Kid," Hopalong laughed. "He won't take any of
th' old outfit away from here."

"Oh, I knowed that; but I thought I'd ask, that's all," and Johnny
cantered away, whistling happily.

Hopalong looked after him and smiled, for Johnny had laughed and
fought and teased himself into the heart of every man of the outfit:
"He's shore a good Kid; an' how he likes a fight!"

CHAPTER V

HOPALONG ASSERTS HIMSELF

Paralleling West Arroyo and two miles east of it was another arroyo,
through which Hopalong was riding the day following his meeting with
Mary. Coming to a place where he could look over the bank he saw a
herd of H2 and Three Triangle cows grazing not far away, and Antonio
was in charge of them. Hopalong did not know how long they had been in
the valley, nor how they had crossed the line, but their presence was
enough. It angered him, for here was open and, it appeared, authorized
defiance. Not content to let his herds run as they wished, Meeker was
actually sending them into the valley under guard, presumably to find
out what would be done about it. The H2 foreman would find that out
very soon.

The Mexican looked around and wheeled sharply to face the danger, his
listlessness gone in a flash. He was not there because of any orders
from Meeker, but for reasons of his own. So when the Bar-20 puncher
raised his arm and swept it towards the line he sat in sullen
indifference, alert and crafty.

"You've got gall!" cried Hopalong. "Who told you to herd up here!"

Antonio frowned but did not reply.

"Yo're three miles too far north," continued Hopalong, riding slowly
forward until their stirrups almost touched.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders.

"I ain't warbling for my health!" cried Hopalong. "You start them cows
south right away."

"I can't."

Hopalong stared. "You can't! Got a sore thumb, mebby! Well, I reckon
you can, an' will."

"I can't. Boss won't let me."

"Oh, he won't! Well, I feel sorry for yore boss but yo're going to
push 'em just th' same."

Antonio again shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in a gesture
of helplessness.

"How long you been here, an' how'd you get in?"

"'N'our. By de _rio_."

"Oh, yore foreman's goin' to raise h--l, ain't he!" Hopalong snorted.
"He's going to pasture on us whether we like it or not, is he? He's a
land thief, that's what he is!"

"De boss ees all right!" asserted Antonio, heatedly.

"If he is he's lop-sided, but he'll be _left_ if he banks on this play
going through without a smash-up. You chase them cows home an' keep
'em there. If I find you flittin' around th' ends of th' line or
herdin' on this side of it I'll give you something to nurse--an'
you'll be lucky if you can nurse it. Come on, get a-going!"

Antonio waved his arm excitedly and was about to expostulate, but
Hopalong cut him short by hitting him across the face with his quirt:
"D--n you!" he cried, angrily. "Shut yore mouth! Get them cows going!
You coffee-colored half-breed of a Greaser, I've a mind to stop you
right now. Come on, get a move on!"

The Mexican's face grew livid and he tried to back away, swearing in
Spanish. Stung to action by the blow, he jerked at his gun, but found
Hopalong's Colt pushing against his neck.

"Drop that gun!" the Bar-20 puncher ordered, his eyes flashing. "Don't
you know better'n that? We've put up with yore crowd as long as we're
going to, an' th' next thing will be a slaughter if that foreman of
yourn don't get some sense, an' get it sudden. Don't talk back! Just
start them cows!"

The Mexican could do nothing but obey. His triumph at the success of
his effort was torn with rabid hatred for the man who had struck him;
but he could not fight with the Colt at his neck, and so sullenly
obeyed. As they neared the line Hopalong ceased his personal remarks
and, smiling grimly, turned to another topic.

"I let you off easy; but no more. Th' next herd we find in our valley
will go sudden an' hard. If anybody is guardin' it they'll never know
what hit 'em." He paused for a moment and then continued, cold
contempt in his voice: "I reckon you had to obey orders, but you won't
do it again if you know what's good for you. If yore boss, as you
calls him, don't like what I've done, you tell him I said to drive th'
next herd hisself. If he ain't man enough to bring 'em in hisself,
tell him that Cassidy says to quit orderin' his men to take risks he's
a-scared of."

"He ees brafe; he ain't 'fraid," Antonio rejoined. "He weel keel you
ef I tell heem what you say."

"Tell him jus' th' same. I'll be riding th' line mostly, an' if he
wants to hunt me up an' confab about it he can find me any time."

Antonio shrugged his shoulders and rode south, filled with elation at
his success in stirring up hostility between the two ranches, but his
heart seethed with murder for the blow. He would carry a message to
Meeker that would call for harsh measures, and the war would be on.

As the Mexican departed Lanky Smith rode into sight and cantered
forward to meet his friend.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I don't know, yet," replied Hopalong. "Greasers are such liars I
don't know what to think," and he related the matter to his companion.

"Lord, but you sent a stiff message to Meeker!" Lanky exclaimed. "You
keep yore eyes plumb open from now on. Meeker'll be wild, an' th'
Greaser won't forget that blow."

"Was anybody on th' east end this morning?"

"Shore; me an' Pete," Lanky replied, frowning. "He couldn't get a cow
acrost without us seein' him--he lied."

"Well, it makes no difference how he got across; he was there, an'
that's all I care about."

"There's one of his outfit now," Lanky said.

Hopalong looked around and saw an H2 puncher riding slowly past them,
about two hundred yards to the south.

"Who is he?" Lanky asked.

"Doc Riley. Meeker got him an' Curley out of a bad scrape up north an'
took them both to punch for him. I hear he is some bad with th' Colt.
Sort of reckons he's a whole war-party in breech-cloths an' war-paint
just 'cause he's got his man."

"He's gettin' close to th' line," Lanky remarked.

"Yes, because we've been turnin' their cows."

"Reckon he won't stop us none to speak of."

Doc had stopped and was watching them and while he looked a cow
blundered out of the brush and started to cross the line. Hopalong
spurred forward to stop it, followed by Lanky, and Doc rode to
intercept them.

"G'wan back, you bone-yard!" Hopalong shouted, firing his Colt in
front of the animal, which now turned and ran back.

Doc slid to a stand, his Colt out. "What do you think you're doing
with that cow?"

"None of yore business!" Hopalong retorted.

Doc backed away so he could watch Lanky, his hand leaping up, and
Hopalong fired. Doc dropped the weapon and grabbed at his right arm,
cursing wildly.

"You half-breed!" cried Hopalong, riding closer. "Next time you gets
any curious about what I'm doing, you better write. You're a fine
specimen to pull a gun on me, you are!"

"You'll stop turnin' our cows, or you'll get a pass to h--l!" retorted
Doc. "We won't stand for it no more, an' when th' boys hears about
this you'll have all you can take care of."

"I ain't got nothing to do but ride th' line an' answer questions like
I did yourn," Hopalong rejoined. "I will have lots of time to take
care of any little trouble that blows up from yore way. But _Meeker's_
th' man I want to see. Tell him to take a herd across this line, will
you?"

"You'll see him!" snapped Doc. "An' you'll need to see him first,
too."

"I don't pot-shoot--I'll leave that for you fellers. All I want is an
even break."

"You'll get it," replied Doc, wheeling and riding off.

"Things are movin' so fast you better send for Buck," Lanky suggested.
"Hell'll be poppin' down here purty soon."

"I'll tell him what's going on, but there ain't no use of bringing him
down here till we has to," Hopalong replied. "We can handle 'em. But I
reckon Johnny had better go up an' tell him."

"Johnny ought to be riding this way purty quick; he's coming from th'
hills."

"We'll meet him an' get him off."

They met Johnny and when he had learned of his mission he protested
against being sent away from the line when things were getting
crowded. "I don't want to miss th' fun!" he exclaimed. "Send Red, or
Lanky."

"Red's too handy with th' Winchester; we might need him," Hopalong
replied, smiling.

"Then you go, Lanky," Johnny suggested. "I'm better'n you with th'
Colt."

"You're better'n nothing!" retorted Lanky. "You do what you're told,
an' quick. Nothing will happen while you're gone, anyhow."

"Then why don't you want to go?"

"I don't want th' ride," Lanky replied. "It's too fur."

"Huh!" snorted Johnny. "Too bad about you an' th' ride! Poor old man,
scared of sixty miles. I'll toss up with you."

"One of you has got to ride to Red an' tell him. He mustn't get caught
unexpected," Hopalong remarked.

"What do you call?" asked Johnny, flipping a coin and catching it when
it came down.

"All right, that's fair enough. Heads," Lanky replied.

"Whoop! It's tails!" cried Johnny, wheeling. "I'm going for Red," and
he was gone before Lanky had time to object.

"Blasted Kid!" Lanky snorted. "How'd I know it was tails?"

"That's yore lookout," laughed Hopalong. "You ought to know him by
this time. It's yore own fault."

"I'll tan his hide some of these fine days," Lanky promised. "He's too
fresh," and he galloped off to cover the thirty miles between him and
the bunk house in the least possible time so as to return as soon as
he could.

CHAPTER VI

MEEKER IS TOLD

When Antonio had covered half of the distance between the line and the
H2 bunk house he was hailed from a chaparral and saw Benito ride into
view. He told his satellite what had occurred in the valley, gave him
a message for Shaw, who was now on the mesa, and cantered on to tell
Meeker his version of the morning's happenings.

The H2 foreman was standing by the corral when his broncho-buster rode
up, and he stared. "Where'd you get that welt on th' face?" he
demanded.

Antonio told him, with many exclamations and angry gestures, that he
had ridden through the valley to see if there were any H2 cows grazing
on it, that he had found a small herd and was about to return to his
own range when he was held up and struck by Hopalong, who accused him
of having driven the cattle across the line. When he had denied this
he had been called a liar and threatened with death if he was ever
again caught on that side of the line.

"By G-d!" cried the foreman. "That's purty high-handed! I'll give 'em
something to beller about when I finds out just what I want to do!"

"He say, 'Tell that boss of yourn to no send you, send heemself nex'
time.' He say he weel keel you on sight. I say he can't. He laugh,
_so_!" laughing in a blood-curdling manner. "He say he keel nex' man
an' cows that cross line. He ees _uno_ devil!"

"He will, hey!" Meeker exclaimed, thoroughly angered. "We'll give him
all th' chance he wants when we get things fixed. 'Tony, what did you
do about getting those two men you spoke of? You went down to Eagle,
didn't you?"

"_Si, si_," assured the Mexican. "They come, _pronto_. They can keel
heem. They come to-day; _quien sabe_?"

"I'll do my own killin'--but here comes Doc," Meeker replied. "Looks
mad, too. Mebby they was going to kill him an' he objected. Hullo,
Doc; what's th' matter?"

"That Cassidy d--n near blowed my arm off," Doc replied. "Caught him
turnin' back one of our cows an' told him not to. When I backed off so
I could keep one eye on his friend he up an' plugs me through my gun
arm."

"I see; they owns th' earth!" Meeker roared. "Shootin' up my men
'cause they stick up for me! Come in th' house an' get that wing
fixed. We can talk in there," he said, glancing at Antonio. "They cut
'Tony across th' face with a quirt 'cause he was ridin' in their
valley!"

"Let's get th' gang together an' wipe 'em off th' earth," Doc
suggested, following Meeker towards the house.

Mary looked up when they entered: "What's th' matter, Dad? Why, are
you hurt, Doc?"

"Don't ask questions, girl," Meeker ordered. "Get us some hot water
an' some clean cloth. Sit down, Doc; we'll fix it in no time."

"We better clean 'em up to-morrow," Doc remarked.

"No; there ain't no use of losin' men fighting if there's any other
way. You know there's a good strong line house on th' top of Lookout
Peak, don't you?"

"Shore; reg'lar fort. They calls it Number Three."

Mary had returned and was tearing a bandage, listening intently to
what was being said.

"What's th' matter with getting in that some day soon an' holdin' it
for good?" asked the foreman. "It overlooks a lot of range, an' once
we're in it it'll cost 'em a lot of lives to get it back--if they can
get it back."

"You're right!" cried Doc, eagerly. "Let me an' Curley get in there
to-night an' hold her for you. We can do it."

"You can't do that. Somebody sleeps in it nights. Nope, we've got to
work some scheme to get it in th' daylight. They are bound to have it
guarded, an' we've got to coax him out somehow. I don't know how, but
I will before many hours pass. Hullo, who's this?" he asked, seeing
two strangers approach the house.

"Couple of Greasers," grunted Doc.

"Hey, you," cried Meeker through the open door. "You go down to th'
corral an' wait for me."

"_Si, señor._"

"What's th' matter, Dad?" asked Mary. "How did Doc get shot?"

Meeker looked up angrily, but his face softened.

"There's a whole lot th' matter, Mary. That Bar-20 shore is gettin'
hot-headed. Cassidy hit 'Tony acrost th' face with a quirt an' shot
Doc. 'Tony was riding through that valley, an' Doc told Cassidy not to
drive back a cow of ourn."

She flushed. "There must 'a been more'n that, Dad. He wouldn't 'a shot
for that. I know it."

"You know it!" cried Meeker, astonished. "How do you know it?"

"He ain't that kind. I know he ain't."

"I asked how you knew it!"

She looked down and then faced him. "Because I know him, because he
ain't that kind. What did you say to him, Doc?"

Meeker's face was a study and Doc flushed, for she was looking him
squarely in the eyes.

"What did you say to him?" she repeated. "Did you make a gun-play?"

"Well, by G-d!" shouted Meeker, leaping to his feet. "You know him,
hey! 'He ain't that kind!' How long have you known him, an' where'd
you meet him?"

"This is no time to talk of that," she replied, her spirit aroused.
"Ask Doc what he did an' said to get shot. Look at him; he lied when
he told you about it."

"I told him to quit driving our cows back," Doc cried. "Of course I
had my hand on my gun when I said it. I'd been a fool if I hadn't,
wouldn't I?"

"That ain't all," she remarked. "Did you try to use it?"

Meeker was staring first at one and then at the other, not knowing
just what to say. Doc looked at him and his mind was made up.

"What'd you do, Doc?" he asked.

"I said: 'What are you doing with that cow?' an' he said it wasn't
none of my business. I got mad then an' jerked my gun loose, but he
got me first. I wasn't going to shoot. I was only getting ready for
him if he tried to."

"How did he know you wasn't going to shoot?" Meeker demanded. "Reckon
I can't blame him for that. He must be quick on th' draw."

"Quickest I ever saw. He had his gun out to shoot in front of a cow.
At th' time I thought he was going to kill it. That's what made me get
in so quick. He slid it back in th' holster an' faced me. I told you
what happened then."

"Well, we've got to show them fellers they can't fool with us an' get
away with it," Meeker replied. "An' I've got to have th' use of that
crick somehow. I'll think of some way to square things."

"Wait, I'll go with you," Doc remarked, following the other towards
the door.

"You go in th' bunk house an' wait for me. I want to see what them
Greasers want."

"Wonder how much 'Tony didn't tell," mused the foreman, as he went
towards the corral. "Reckon Cassidy cut him 'cause he was a Greaser.
Come purty nigh doing it myself, once. Well, I don't care, but I've
got to notice plays like that or they'll think I'm scared of 'em. I'll
go up an' have it out, an' when I get ready I'll show them swaggerin'
bucks what's what."

When he returned he saw Antonio leaning against his shack, for the
Mexican was not tolerated by the rest of the outfit and so lived
alone. He looked at his foreman and leered knowingly, and then went
inside the building, where he laughed silently. "That's a joke, all
right! Meeker hiring two of my brothers to watch his cows an' do his
spying! We'll skin this range before we're through."

Meeker frowned when he caught his broncho-buster's look and he
growled: "You never did look good, an' that welt shore makes you look
more like th' devil than ever." He glanced at the house and the frown
deepened. "So you know Cassidy! That's a _nice_ thing to tell me! I'll
just go up an' see that coyote, right now," and he went for his horse,
muttering and scowling.

Antonio knew of a herd of cows and calves which had not been included
in the H2 roundup, and which were fattening on an outlying range.
There was also a large herd of Bar-20 cattle growing larger every day
on the western range far outside the boundaries. Benito was scouting,
Shaw and the others were nearly ready for work on the mesa, and now
Meeker had hired Antonio's brothers to help him to be robbed. Added to
this was the constantly growing hostility along the line, and this
would blaze before he and Benito had finished their work. Everything
considered he was very much pleased and even his personal vengeance
was provided for. Doc had more cause for animosity against Hopalong
than he had, and if the Bar-20 puncher should be killed some day when
Doc rode the northern range Doc would be blamed for it. But Meeker had
not acted as he should have done when two of his men had been hurt on
the same day, and that must be remedied. The faster things moved
towards fighting the less chance there would be of the plot becoming
known.

Antonio was the broncho-buster of the H2 because he was a positive
genius at the work, and he was a good, all-around cowman when he
overcame his inherent laziness; but he was cruel to a degree with both
horses and cattle. Because of his fitness Meeker had overlooked his
undesirable qualities, which he had in plenty. He was entirely too
fond of liquor and gambling, was uncertain in his hours, and used his
time as he saw fit when not engaged in breaking horses. A natural
liar, exceedingly unclean in his habits, vindictive and with a temper
dry as tinder, he was shunned by the other members of the outfit. This
filled his heart with hatred for them and for Meeker, who did not
interfere. He swore many times that he would square up everything
some day, and the day was getting closer.

In appearance he was about medium height, but his sloping shoulders
and lax carriage gave his arms the appearance of being abnormally
long. His face was sharp and narrow, while his thin, wiry body seemed
almost devoid of flesh. Like most cowboys he was a poor walker and his
toes turned in like those of an Indian. Such was Antonio, who longed
to gamble with Fortune in a dangerous game for stakes which to him
were large, and who had already suggested to Meeker that the line
house on Lookout Peak was the key to the situation. It was the germ,
which grew slowly in the foreman's brain and became more feasible and
insistent day by day, and it accounted for his fits of abstraction; it
would not do to fail if the attempt were made.

CHAPTER VII

HOPALONG MEETS MEEKER

When Meeker was within a mile of the line he met Curley, told him what
had occurred and that he was going to find Hopalong. Curley smiled and
replied that he had seen that person less than ten minutes ago and
that he was riding towards the peak, and alone.

"We'll go after him," Meeker replied. "You come because I want to face
him in force so he won't start no gun-play an' make me kill him.
That'd set hell to pop."

Hopalong espied Johnny far to the east and he smiled as he remembered
the celerity with which that individual had departed after glancing at
the coin.

"There ain't no flies on th' Kid, all right," he laughed, riding
slowly so Johnny could join him. He saw Curley riding south and looked
over the rough plain for other H2 punchers. Some time later as he
passed a chaparral he glanced back to see what had become of his
friend, but found that he had disappeared. When he wheeled to watch
for him he saw Meeker and Curley coming towards him and he shook his
holster to be sure his Colt was not jammed in it too tightly.

"Well, here's where th' orchestry tunes up, all right," he muttered
grimly. "Licked th' Greaser, plugged Doc, an' sent word to Meeker to
come up if he wasn't scared. He's come, an' now I'll have to lick two
more. If they push me I'll shoot to kill!"

The H2 foreman rode ahead of his companion and stopped when fifty
yards from the alert line-rider. Pushing his sombrero back on his
head, he lost no time in skirmishing. "Did you chase my broncho-buster
out of yore valley, cut his face with yore quirt, an' shoot Doc? Did
you send word to me that you'd kill me if I showed myself?"

"Was you ever an auctioneer," calmly asked Hopalong, "or a book
agent?"

"What's that got to do with it?" Meeker demanded. "You heard what I
said."

"I don't know nothing about yore broncho-buster, taking one thing at a
time, which is proper."

"What! You didn't drive him out, or cut him?"

"No; why?" asked Hopalong, chuckling.

"He says you did--an' somebody quirted him."

"He's loco--he wasn't in th' valley," Hopalong replied. "Think he
could get in that valley? Him, or any other man we didn't want in?"

"You're devilish funny!" retorted Meeker, riding slowly forward,
followed by his companion, who began to edge away from his foreman.
"Since you are so exact, did you chase him off yore range an' push
him over th' line at th' point of yore gun?"

"You've got me. Better not come too close--my cayuse don't like
gettin' crowded."

"That's all right," Meeker retorted, not heeding the warning. "Do you
mean to tell me you don't know? Yore name's Cassidy, ain't it?" he
asked, angrily, his determination to avoid fighting rapidly becoming
lost.

"That's my own, shore 'nuf name," Hopalong answered, and then: "Do you
mean that cross-eyed, bone-yard of a yellow-faced Greaser I caught
stealing our range?"

"Yes!" snapped Meeker, stopping again.

"Why didn't you say so, then, 'stead of calling him yore
broncho-buster?" Hopalong demanded. "How do I know who yore
broncho-buster is? I don't know what every land pirate does in this
country."

"Then you shot Doc--do you know who I mean this time?" sarcastically
asked the H2 foreman.

"Oh, shore. He didn't get his gun out quick enough when he went after
it, did he? Any more I can tell you before I begins to say things,
too?"

Meeker, angered greatly by Hopalong's contemptuous inflection and the
reckless assertiveness of his every word and look, began to ride to
describe a circle around the Bar-20 puncher, Curley going the other
way.

"You said you'd kill me when you saw me, didn't you, you--"

Hopalong was backing away so as to keep both men in front of him,
alert, eager, and waiting for the signal to begin his two-handed
shooting. "I ain't a whole lot deaf--I can hear you from where you
are. You better stop, for I've ridden out of tighter holes than this,
an' you'll shore get a pass to h--l if you crowd me too much!"

     Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
     Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill--

This fragment of song floated out of a chaparral about twenty yards
behind Hopalong, who grinned pleasantly when he heard it. Now he knew
where Johnny was, and now he had the whip hand without touching his
guns; while the youngster was not in sight he was all the more
dangerous, since he presented no target. Johnny knew this and was
greatly pleased thereby, and he was more than pleased by the way
Hopalong had been talking.

The effect of the singing was instant and marked on Meeker and his
companion, for they not only stopped suddenly and swore, but began to
back away, glancing around in an endeavor to locate the joker in the
deck. This they failed to do because Johnny was far too wise to
advertise his exact whereabouts. Meeker looked at Curley and Curley
looked at Meeker, both uneasy and angry.

"As I was sayin' before th' concert began," Hopalong remarked,
laughing shortly, "it's a pass to h--l if you crowd me too much. Now,
Meeker, you'll listen to me an' I'll tell you what I didn't have time
to say before: I told that shifty-eyed mud-image of a Greaser that
th' next herd of yourn to cross th' line should be brought in by you,
'less you was scared to run th' risks yore men had to take. He said
you'd kill me for that message, an' I told him you knew where you
could find me. Now about Doc: When a man pulls a gun on me he wants to
be quicker than _he_ was or he'll shore get hurt. I could 'a killed
him just as easy as to plug his gun arm, an' just as easy as I could
'a plugged both of you if you pulled on me. You came up here looking
for my scalp an' if you still wants it I'll go away from th' song bird
in the chaparral an' give you th' chance. I'd ruther let things stay
as they are, though if you wants, I'll take both you an' Curley,
half-mile run together, with Colts."

"No, I didn't come up here after your scalp, but I got mad after I
found you. How long is this going to last? I won't stand for it much
longer, nohow."

"You'll have to see Buck. I'm obeyin' orders, which are to hold th'
line against you, which I'll do."

"H'm!" replied Meeker, and then: "Do you know my girl?"

Hopalong thought quickly. "Why, I've seen her ridin' around some. But
why?"

"She says she knows you," persisted Meeker, frowning.

The frown gave Hopalong his cue, but he hardly knew what to say, not
knowing what she had said about it.

"Hey, you!" he suddenly cried to Curley. "Keep yore hand from that
gun!"

"I didn't--"

"You're lying! Any more of that an' I'll gimlet you!"

"What in h--l are you doing, Curley?" demanded Meeker, the girl
question out of his mind instantly. He had been looking closely at
Hopalong and didn't know that Curley was innocent of any attempt to
use his Colt.

"I tell--"

"Get out of here! I've wasted too much time already. Go home, where
that gun won't worry you. You, too, Meeker! Bring an imitation bad-man
up here an' sayin' you didn't want my scalp! Flit!"

"I'll go when I'm d----d good and ready!" retorted Meeker, angry
again. "You're too blasted bossy, you are!" he added, riding towards
the man who had shot Doc.

     A-looking for some place to land----

floated out of the chaparral and he stiffened in the saddle and
stopped.

"Come on, Curley! We can't lick pot-shooters. An' let that gun alone!"

"D--n it! I tell you I wasn't going for my gun!" Curley yelled.

"Get out of here!" blazed Hopalong, riding forward.

They rode away slowly, consulting in low voices. Then the foreman
turned and looked back. "You better be careful how you shoot my
punchers! They ain't all like Doc, an' they ain't all Greasers,
neither."

"Then you're lucky," Hopalong retorted. "You keep yore cows on yore
side an' we won't hurt none of yore outfit."

When they had gone Hopalong wheeled to look for Johnny and saw him
crawling out of a chaparral, dragging a rifle after him. He capered
about, waving the rifle and laughing with joy and Hopalong had to
laugh with him. When they were rid of the surplus of the merriment
Johnny patted the rifle. "Reckon they was shore up against a marked
deck that time! Did you see 'em stiffen when I warbled? Acted like
they had roped a puma an' didn't know what to do with it. Gee, it was
funny!"

"You're all right, Kid," laughed Hopalong. "It was yore best play--you
couldn't 'a done better."

"Shore," replied Johnny. "I had my sights glued to Curley's shirt
pocket, an' he'd been plumb disgusted if he'd tried to do what you
said he did. I couldn't 'a missed him with a club at that range. I
nearly died when you pushed Meeker's girl question up that blind
canyon. It was a peach of a throw, all right. Bet he ain't remembered
yet that he didn't get no answer to it. We're going to have some
blamed fine times down here before everything is settled, ain't we?"

"I reckon so, Kid. I'm going to leave you now an' look around by West
Arroyo. You hang around th' line."

"All right--so long."

"Can you catch yore cayuse?"

"Shore I can; he's hobbled," came the reply from behind a spur of the
chaparral. "_Stand still, you hen!_ All right, Hoppy."

Johnny cantered away and, feeling happy, began, singing:

     Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
       Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill;
     A-looking for some place to land
       Comes Whiskey Bill.
     An' everybody'd like to be
     Ten miles away behind a tree
     When on his joyous, achin' spree
       Starts Whiskey Bill.

     Th' times have changed since you made love,
       Oh, Whiskey Bill, oh, Whiskey Bill;
     Th' happy sun grinned up above
       At Whiskey Bill.
     An' down th' middle of th' street
     Th' sheriff comes on toe-in feet,
     A-wishing for one fretful peek
       At Whiskey Bill.

     Th' cows go grazin' o'er th' lea--
       Pore Whiskey Bill, pore Whiskey Bill;
     An' aching thoughts pour in on me
       Of Whiskey Bill.
     Th' sheriff up an' found his stride,
     Bill's soul went shootin' down th' slide--
     How are things on th' Great Divide,
       Oh, Whiskey Bill?

CHAPTER VIII

ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT

Thunder Mesa was surrounded by almost impenetrable chaparrals,
impenetrable to horse and rider except along certain alleys, but not
too dense for a man on foot. These stretched away on all sides as far
as the eye could see and made the desolate prospect all the more
forbidding. It rose a sheer hundred feet into the air, its sides
smooth rock and affording no footing except a narrow, precarious ledge
which slanted up the face of the southern end, too broken and narrow
to permit of a horse ascending, but passable to a man.

The top of the mesa was about eight acres in extent and was rocky and
uneven, cut by several half-filled fissures which did not show on the
walls. Uninviting as the top might be considered it had one feature
which was uncommon, for the cataclysm of nature which had caused this
mass of rock to tower above the plain had given to it a spring which
bubbled out of a crack in the rock and into a basin cut by itself;
from there it flowed down the wall and into a shallow depression in
the rock below, where it made a small water hole before flowing
through the chaparrals, where it sank into the sand and became lost
half a mile from its source.

At the point where the slanting ledge met the top of the mesa was a
hut built of stones and adobe, its rear wall being part of a
projecting wall of rock. Narrow, deep loopholes had been made in the
other walls and a rough door, massive and tight fitting, closed the
small doorway. The roof, laid across cedar poles which ran from wall
to wall, was thick and flat and had a generous layer of adobe to repel
the rays of the scorching sun. Placed as it was the hut overlooked the
trail leading to it from the plain, and should it be defended by
determined men, assault by that path would be foolhardy.

On the plain around the mesa extended a belt of sparse grass, some
hundreds of feet wide at the narrowest point and nearly a mile at the
widest, over which numerous rocks and bowlders and clumps of chaparral
lay scattered. On this pasture were about three score cattle, most of
them being yearlings, but all bearing the brand HQQ and a diagonal ear
cut. These were being watched by a careless cowboy, although it was
belittling their scanty intelligence to suppose that they would leave
the water and grass, poor as the latter was, to stray off onto the
surrounding desert.

At the base of the east wall of the mesa was a rough corral of cedar
poles set on end, held together by rawhide strips, which, put on
green, tightened with the strength of steel cables when dried by the
sun. In its shadow another man watched the cattle while he worked in
a desultory way at repairing a saddle. Within the corral a man was
bending over a cow while two others held it down. Its feet were tied
and it was panting, wild-eyed and frightened. The man above it stepped
to a glowing fire a few paces away and took from it a hot iron, with
which he carefully traced over the small brand already borne by the
animal. With a final flourish he stepped back, regarding the work with
approval, and thrust the iron into the sand. Taking a knife from his
pocket he trimmed the V notch in its ear to the same slanting cut seen
on the cattle outside on the pasture. He tossed the bit of cartilage
from him, stepping back and nodding to his companions, who loosened
the ropes and leaped back, allowing the animal to escape.

Shaw, who had altered the H2 brand, turned to one of the others and
laughed heartily. "Good job, eh Manuel? Th' H2 won't know their cow
now!"

Manuel grinned. "_Si, si_; eet ees!" he cried. He was cook for the
gang, a bosom friend of Benito and Antonio, slight, cadaverous, and as
shifty-eyed as his friends. In his claw-like fingers he held a husk
cigarette, without which he was seldom seen. He spoke very little but
watched always, his eyes usually turned eastward. He seemed to be
almost as much afraid of the east as Cavalry was of the west, where
the desert lay. He ridiculed Cavalry's terror of the desert and
explained why the east was to be feared the more, for the eastern
danger rode horses and could come to them [Transcriber's note: Text
seems to be missing here in the original.] "Hope 'Tony fixes up that
line war purty soon, eh, Cavalry?" remarked Shaw, suddenly turning to
the third man in the group.

Cavalry was staring moodily towards the desert and did not hear him.

"Cavalry! Get that desert off yore mind! Do you want to go loco? Who's
going to take th' next drive an' bring back th' flour, you or
Clausen?"

"It's Clausen's turn next."

Manuel slouched away and began to climb the slanting path up the mesa.
Shaw watched him reflectively and laughed. "There he goes again. Beats
th' devil how scared he is, spending most of his time on th' lookout.
Why, he's blamed near as scared of them punchers as you are of that
skillet out yonder."

"We ain't got no kick, have we?" retorted Cavalry. "Ain't he looking
out for us at th' same time?"

"I don't know about that," Shaw replied, frowning. "I ain't got no
love for Manuel. If he saw 'em coming an' could get away he'd sneak
off without saying a word. It'd give him a chance to get away while we
held 'em."

"We'll see him go, then; there's only one way down."

"Oh, th' devil with him!" Shaw exclaimed. "What do you think of th'
chances of startin' that range war?"

"From what th' Greaser says it looks good."

"Yes. But he'll get caught some day, or night, an' pay for it with his
life."

Cavalry shrugged his shoulders. "I reckon so; but he's only a
Greaser," he said, coldly. "I'd ruther they'd get him out there than
to follow him here. If he goes, I hope it's sudden, so he won't have
time to squeal."

"He's a malignant devil, an' he hates that H2 outfit like blazes,"
replied Shaw. "An' now he's got a pizen grudge agin' th' Bar-20. He
might let his hate get th' upper hand an' start in to square things;
if he does that he'll over-reach, an' get killed."

"I reckon so; but he's clever as th' devil hisself."

"Well, if he gets too big-headed out here Hall will take care of him,
all right," Shaw laughed.

"I don't like th' Greasers he's saddled us with," Cavalry remarked.
"There's Manuel an' Benito. One of 'em is here all th' time an' close
to you, too, if you remember. Then he's going to put two or three on
th' range; why?"

"Suspects we'll steal some of his share, I reckon. An' if he gets in
trouble with us they'll be on his side. Oh, he's no fool."

"If he 'tends to business an' forgets his grudges it'll be a good
thing for us. That Bar-20 has got an awful number of cows. An' there's
th' H2, an' th' other two up north."

"We've tackled th' hardest job first--th' Bar-20," replied Shaw,
laughing. "I used to know some fellers what said that outfit couldn't
be licked. They died trying to prove themselves liars."

"Wonder how much money 'Tony totes around on him?" asked Cavalry.

"Not much; he's too wise. He's cached it somewhere. Was you reckonin'
on takin' it away from him at th' end?"

"No, no. I just wondered what he did with it."

The man at the gate looked up. "Here comes 'Tony."

Shaw and his companion rode forward to meet him.

"What's up?" cried Shaw.

"I have started th' war," Antonio replied, a cruel smile playing over
his sharp face. "They'll be fightin' purty soon."

"That's good," responded Shaw. "Tell us about it."

Antonio, with many gestures and much conceit, told of the trick he had
played on Hopalong, and he took care to lose no credit in the telling.
He passed lightly over the trouble between Doc and the Bar-20 puncher,
but intimated that he had caused it. He finished by saying: "You send
to th' same place to-morrow an' Benito'll have some cows for you.
They'll soon give us our chance, an' it'll be easy then."

"Mebby it will be easy," replied Shaw, "but that rests with you.
You've got to play yore cards plumb cautious. You've done fine so far,
but if you ain't careful you'll go to h--l in a hurry an' take us with
you. You can't fool 'em all th' time, for someday they'll get
suspicious an' swap ideas. An' when they do that it means fight for
us."

Antonio smiled and thought how easy it might be, if the outfits grew
suspicious and he learned of it in time, to discover tracks and other
things and tell Meeker he was sure there was organized rustling and
that all tracks pointed to Thunder Mesa. He could ride across the
border before any of his partners had time to confess and implicate
him. But he assured Shaw that he would be careful, adding: "No, I
won't make no mistakes. I hate 'em all too much to grow careless."

"That's just where you'll miss fire," the other rejoined. "You'll
pamper yore grouch till you forget everything else. You better be
satisfied to get square by taking their cows."

"Don't worry about that."

"All right. Here's yore money for th' last herd," he said, digging
down into his pocket and handing the Mexican some gold coins. "You
know how to get more."

Antonio took the money, considered a moment and then pocketed it,
laughing. "Good! But I mus' go back now. I won't be out here again
very soon; it's too risky. Send me my share by Benito," he called over
his shoulder as he started off.

The two rustlers watched him and Cavalry shook his head slowly. "I'm
plumb scairt he'll bungle it. If he does we'll get caught like rats in
a trap."

"If we're up there we can hold off a thousand," Shaw replied, looking
up the wall.

"Here comes Hall," announced the man at the gate.

The newcomer swept up and leaped from his hot and tired horse. "I
found them other ranches are keeping their men ridin' over th' range
an' along th' trails--I near got caught once," he reported. "We'll
have to be careful how we drives to th' construction camps."

"They'll get tired watchin' after a while," replied the leader. "'Tony
was just here."

"I don't care if he's in h--l," retorted Hall. "He'll peach on us to
save his mangy skin, one of these days."

"We've got to chance it."

"Where's Frisco?"

"Down to Eagle for grub to tide us over for a few days."

"Huh!" exclaimed Hall. "Everything considered we're goin' to fight
like th' devil out here someday. Down to Eagle!"

"We can fight!" retorted Shaw. "An' if we has to run for it, there's
th' desert."

"I'd ruther die right here fighting than on that desert," remarked
Cavalry, shuddering. "When I go I want to go quick, an' not be
tortured for 'most a week." He had an insistent and strong horror of
that gray void of sand and alkali so near at hand and so far across.
He was nervous and superstitious, and it seemed always to be calling
him. Many nights he had awakened in a cold sweat because he had
dreamed it had him, and often it was all he could do to resist going
out to it.

Shaw laughed gratingly. "You don't like it, do you?"

Hall smiled and walked towards the slanting trail.

"Why, it ain't bad," he called over his shoulder.

"It's an earthly hell!" Cavalry exclaimed. He glanced up the mesa
wall. "We can hold that till we starve, or run out of cartridges--then
what?"

"You're a calamity howler!" snapped Shaw. "That desert has wore a
saddle sore on yore nerves somethin' awful. Don't think about it so
much! It can't come to you, an' you ain't going to it," he laughed,
trying to wipe out the suggestion of fear that had been awakened in
him by the thought of the desert as a place of refuge. He had found a
wanderer, denuded of clothes, sweating blood and hopelessly mad one
day when he and Cavalry had ridden towards the desert; and the sight
of the unfortunate's dying agonies had remained with him ever since.
"We ain't going to die out here--they won't look for us where they
don't think there's any grass or water."

Fragments of Manuel's song floated down to them as they strode towards
the trail, and reassured that all would be well, their momentary
depression was banished by the courage of their hearts.

The desert lay beyond, quiet; ominous by its very silence and inertia;
a ghastly, malevolent aspect in its every hollow; patient,
illimitable, scorching; fascinating in its horrible calm, sinister,
forbidding, hellish. It had waited through centuries--and was still
waiting, like the gigantic web of the Spider of Thirst.

CHAPTER IX

ON THE PEAK

Hopalong Cassidy had the most striking personality of all the men in
his outfit; humorous, courageous to the point of foolishness, eager
for fight or frolic, nonchalant when one would expect him to be quite
otherwise, curious, loyal to a fault, and the best man with a Colt in
the Southwest, he was a paradox, and a puzzle even to his most
intimate friends. With him life was a humorous recurrence of
sensations, a huge pleasant joke instinctively tolerated, but not
worth the price cowards pay to keep it. He had come onto the range
when a boy and since that time he had laughingly carried his life in
his open hand, and although there had been many attempts to snatch it
he still carried it there, and just as recklessly.

Quick in decisions and quick to suspect evil designs against him and
his ranch, he was different from his foreman, whose temperament was
more optimistic. When Buck had made him foreman of the line riders he
had no fear that Meeker or his men would take many tricks, for his
faith in Hopalong's wits and ability was absolute. He had such faith
that he attended to what he had to do about the ranch house and did
not appear on the line until he had decided to call on Meeker and put
the question before him once and for all. If the H2 foreman did not
admit the agreement and promise to abide by it then he would be told
to look for trouble.

While Buck rode towards Lookout Peak, Hopalong dismounted at the line
house perched on its top and found Red Connors seated on the rough
bench by the door. Red, human firebrand both in hair and temper, was
Hopalong's loyal chum--in the eyes of the other neither could do
wrong. Red was cleaning his rifle, the pride of his heart, a
wicked-shooting Winchester which used the Government cartridge
containing seventy grains of powder and five hundred grains of lead.
With his rifle he was as expert as his friend was with the Colt, and
up to six hundred yards, its limit with accuracy, he could do about
what he wished with it.

"Hullo, you," said Red, pleasantly. "You looks peevish."

"An' you look foolish. What you doing?"

"Minding my business."

"Hard work?" sweetly asked Hopalong, carelessly seating himself on the
small wooden box which lay close to his friend.

"Hey, you!" cried Red, leaping up and hauling him away. "You bust them
sights an' you'll be sorry! Ain't you got no sense?"

"Sights? What are you going to do with 'em?"

"Wear 'em 'round my neck for a charm! What'd you reckon I'd do with
'em!"

"Didn't know. I didn't think you'd put 'em on that thing," Hopalong
replied, looking with contempt at his friend's rifle. "Honest, you
ain't a-goin' to put 'em on that lead ranch, are you? You're like th'
Indians--want a lot of shots to waste without re-loadin'."

"I ain't wasting no shots, an' I'm going to put sights on that lead
ranch, too. These old ones are too coarse," Red replied, carefully
placing the box out of danger. "Now you can sit down."

"Thanks; please can I smoke?"

Red grunted, pushed down the lever of the rifle, and began to
re-assemble the parts, his friend watching the operation. When Red
tried to slip the barrel into its socket Hopalong laughed and told him
to first draw out the magazine, if he wanted to have any success.

The line foreman took a cartridge from the pile on the bench and
compared it with one which he took from his belt, a huge, 45-caliber
Sharps special, shooting five hundred and fifty grains of lead with
one hundred and twenty grains of powder out of a shell over three
inches long; a cartridge which shot with terrific force and for a
great distance, the weight of the large ball assuring accuracy at long
ranges. Beside this four-inch cartridge the Government ammunition
appeared dwarfed.

"When are you going to wean yoreself from popping these musket caps,
Red?" he asked, tossing the smaller cartridge away and putting his own
back in his belt.

"Well, you've got gall!" snorted Red, going out for his cartridge.
Returning with it he went back to work on his gun, his friend laughing
at his clumsy fingers.

"Yore fingers are all thumbs, an' sore at that."

"Never mind my fingers. Have you seen Johnny around?"

"Yes; he was watching one of them new H2 Greasers. He'll go off th'
handle one of these days, for he hates Greasers worse'n I do, an' that
coffee face'll drive him to gun-play. He reminds me a whole lot of a
bull-pup chained with a corral-ful of cats when there's Greasers
around."

Red laughed and nodded. "Where's Lanky?"

"Johnny said he was at Number Four fixin' that saddle again. He ain't
done nothin' for th' last month but fix it. Purty soon there won't be
none of it left to fix."

"There certainly won't!"

"His saddle an' yore gun make a good pair."

"Let up about the gun. You can't say nothin' more about it without
repeatin' yoreself."

"It's a sawed-off carbine. I'd ruther have a Spencer any day."

"You remind me a whole lot of a feller I once knowed," Red retorted.

"That so?" asked Hopalong, suspiciously. "Was he so nice?"

"No; he was a fool," Red responded, going into the house.

"Then that's where you got it, for they say it's catching."

Red stuck his head out of the door. "On second thought you remind me
of another feller."

"You must 'a knowed some good people."

"An' he was a liar."

"Hullo, Hop Wah!" came from the edge of the hilltop and Hopalong
wheeled to see Skinny Thompson approaching.

"What you doing?" Skinny asked, using his stock question for beginning
a conversation.

"Painting white spots on pink elephants!"

"Where's Red?"

"In th' shack, rubbin' 'em off again."

"Johnny chased that Greaser off'n th' ranch," Skinny offered,
grinning.

"Good for him!" cried Hopalong.

"Johnny's all right--here comes Buck," Red said, coming out of the
house. "Johnny's with him, too. Hullo, Kid!"

"Hullo, Brick-top!" retorted Johnny, who did not like his nickname. No
one treated him as anything but a boy and he resented it at times.

"Did he chase you far?" Hopalong queried.

"I'd like to see anybody chase me!"

Buck smiled. "How are things down here?"

Hopalong related what had occurred and the foreman nodded. "I'm going
down to see Meeker--he's th' only man who can tell me what we're to
look for. I don't want to keep so many men down here. Frenchy has got
all he can handle, an' I want somebody up in Two. So long."

"Let me an' Red go with you, Buck," cried Hopalong.

"Me, too!" exclaimed Johnny, excitedly.

"You stay home, an' don't worry about me," replied the foreman, riding
off.

"I don't like to see him go alone," Hopalong muttered. "He may get a
raw deal down there. But if he does we'll wipe 'em off'n th' earth."

"Mamma! Look there!" softly cried Johnny, staring towards the other
side of the plateau, where Mary Meeker rode past. Red and Skinny were
astonished and Johnny and Hopalong pretended to be; but all removed
their sombreros while she remained in sight. Johnny was watching
Hopalong's face, but when Red glanced around he was staring over the
hill.

"Gosh, ain't she a ripper!" he exclaimed softly.

"She is," admitted Skinny. "She shore is."

Hopalong rubbed his nose reflectively and turned to Red. "Did you ever
notice how pretty a freckle is?"

Red stared, for he had only toleration for the fair sex, and his
friend continued:

"Take a purty girl an' stick a freckle on her nose an' it sort of
takes yore breath."

Red grinned. "I ain't never took a purty girl an' stuck a freckle on
her nose, so I can't say."

Hopalong flushed at the laughter and Skinny cried, joyously: "She's
got two of us already! Meeker's got us licked if he'll let her show
herself once in a while. Oh, these young fellers! Nothing can rope
'em so quick as a female, an' th' purtier she is th' quicker she can
do it."

A warning light came into Hopalong's eyes. "Nobody in this outfit'll
go back on Buck for all th' purty women in th' world!"

"Good boy!" thought Johnny.

"We've got to watch th' Kid, just th' same," laughed Skinny.

"I'll knock yore head off!" cried Johnny. "You're sore 'cause you know
you ain't got no chance with women while me an' Hoppy are around!"

Red looked critically at Hopalong and snickered. "If we've got to look
like him to catch th' women, thank God we don't want 'em!"

"Is that so!" retorted Hopalong.

"Say," drawled Skinny. "Wouldn't th' Kid look nice hobbled with
matrimony? That is, after he grows up."

"You go to th' devil!"

"Gee, Kid, you look bloodthirsty," laughed Red. "You can fool them
Greasers easy if you looks like that."

"You go to," Johnny retorted, swinging into the saddle. "I'm going
along th' line to see what's loose."

"I'll lick you when I see you again!" shouted Red, grinning.

Johnny turned and twirled his fingers at his red-haired friend. "Yah,
you ain't man enough!"

"Johnny's gettin' more hungry for a fight every day," Hopalong
remarked. "He's itching for one."

"So was you a few years back, an' you ain't changed none," replied
Red. "You used to ride around looking for fights."

"To hear you talk, anybody'd think you was a Angel of Peace," Hopalong
retorted.

"One's as bad as th' other, so shut up," Skinny remarked, going into
the house for a drink.

CHAPTER X

BUCK VISITS MEEKER

As Buck rode south he went over the boundary trouble in all its
phases, and the more he thought about it the firmer his resolution
grew to hold the line at any cost. He had gone to great expense and
labor to improve the water supply in the valley and he saw no reason
why the H2 could not do the same; and to him an agreement was an
agreement, and ran with the land. What Meeker thought about it was not
the question--the point at issue was whether or not the H2 could take
the line and use the valley, and if they could they were welcome to
it.

But while there was any possibility for a peaceable settlement it
would be foolish to start fighting, for one range war had spread to
alarming proportions and had been costly to life and property. Then
there was the certainty that once war had begun, rustling would
develop. But, be the consequences what they might, he would fight to
the last to hold that which was rightfully his. He was not going to
Meeker to beg a compromise, or to beg him to let the valley alone; he
was riding to tell the H2 foreman what he could expect if he forced
matters.

When he rode past the H2 corrals he was curiously regarded by a group
of punchers who lounged near them, and he went straight up to them
without heeding their frowns.

"Is Meeker here?"

"No, he ain't here," replied Curley, who was regarded by his
companions as being something of a humorist.

"Where is he?"

"Since you asks, I reckon he's in th' bunk house," Curley replied.
"Where he ought to be," he added, pointedly, while his companions
grinned.

"That's wise," responded Buck. "He ought to stay there more often. I
hope his cows will take after him. Much obliged for th' information,"
he finished, riding on.

"His cows an' his punchers'll do as they wants," asserted Curley,
frowning.

"Excuse me. I reckoned _he_ was boss around here," Buck apologized, a
grim smile playing about his lips. "But you better change that 'will'
to 'won't' when you mean th' valley."

"I mean _will_!" Curley retorted, leaping to his feet. "An' what's
more, I ain't through with that game laig puncher of yourn, neither."

Buck laughed and rode forward again. "You have my sympathy, then," he
called over his shoulder.

Buck stopped before the bunk house and called out, and in response to
his hail Jim Meeker came and stood in the door.

The H2 foreman believed he was right, and he was too obstinate to
admit that there was any side but his which should be considered. He
wanted water and better grass, and both were close at hand. Where he
had been raised there had been no boundaries, for it had been free
grass and water, and he would not and could not see that it was any
different on his new range. He had made no agreement, and if one had
been made it did not concern him; it concerned only those who had made
it. He did not buy the ranch from the old owners, but from a
syndicate, and there had been nothing said about lines or
restrictions. When he made any agreements he lived up to them, but he
did not propose to observe those made by others.

"How'dy, Meeker," said Buck, nodding.

"How'dy, Peters; come in?"

"I reckon it ain't worth while. I won't stay long," Buck replied. "I
came down to tell you that some of yore cows are crossing our line.
They're gettin' worse every day."

"That so?" asked Meeker, carelessly.

"Yes."

"Um; well, what's th' reason they shouldn't? An' what is that 'line,'
that we shouldn't go over it?"

"Dawson, th' old foreman of th' Three Triangle, told you all about
that," Buck replied, his whole mind given to the task of reading what
sort of a man he had to deal with. "It's our boundary; an' yourn."

"Yes? But I don't recognize no boundary. What have they got to do with
me?"

"It has this much, whether you recognize it or not: It marks th' north
limit of yore grazin'. _We_ don't cross it."

"Huh! You don't have to, while you've got that crick."

"We won't have th' crick, nor th' grass, either, if you drive yore
cows on us. That valley is our best grazing, an' it ain't in th'
agreement that you can eat it all off."

"What agreement?"

"I didn't come down here to tell you what you know," Buck replied,
slowly. "I came to tell you to keep yore Greasers an' yore cows on
yore own side, that's whatever."

"How do you know my cows are over there?"

"How do I know th' sun is shining?"

"What do you want me to do?" Meeker asked, leaning against the house
and grinning.

"Hold yore herds where they belong. Of course some are shore to stray
over, but strays don't count--I ain't talkin' about them."

"Well, I've punched a lot of cows in my day," replied Meeker, "an'
over a lot of range, but I never seen no boundary lines afore. An'
nobody ever told me to keep on one range, if they knowed me. I've run
up against a wire fence or two in th' last few years, but they didn't
last long when I hit 'em."

"If you want to know what a boundary line looks like I can show you.
There's a plain trail along it where my men have rode for years."

"So you say; but I've got to have water."

"You've got it; twenty miles of river. An' if you'll put down a well
or two th' Jumping Bear won't go dry."

"I don't know nothing about wells," Meeker replied. "Natural water's
good enough for me without fooling with wet holes in th' ground."

"No; but, by G-d, yo're willin' enough to use them what I put down! Do
you think I spent good time an' money just to supply _you_ with water?
Why don't you get yore own, 'stead of hoggin' mine!"

"There's water enough, an' it ain't yourn, neither."

"It's mine till somebody takes it away from me, an' you can gamble on
that."

"Oh, I reckon you'll share it."

"I reckon I won't!" Buck retorted. "Look here; my men have held that
range for many years against all kinds of propositions an' didn't get
pushed into th' discard once; an' they'll go right on holding it. Hell
has busted loose down here purty often during that time, but we've
allus roped an' branded it; an' we hain't forgot how!"

"Well, I don't want no trouble, but I've got to use that water, an' my
men are some hard to handle."

"You'll find mine worse to handle before you gets through," Buck
rejoined. "They're restless now, an' once they start, all h--l can't
stop 'em." Meeker started to reply, but Buck gave him no chance. "Do
you know why I haven't driven you back by force? It wasn't because I
figgered on what _you'd_ do. It was on account of th' rustling that'll
blossom on this range just as soon as we get too busy to watch things.
That's why, but if yo're willing to take a chance with cow thieves, I
am."

"I'm willing. I've got to have water on my northwest corner," Meeker
replied. "An' I'm going to have it! If my cows get on yore private
reservation, it's up to you to drive 'em off; but I wouldn't be none
hasty doing it if I was you. You see, my men are plumb touchy."

"That's final, is it?"

"I ain't never swallered nothing I ever said."

"All right. I can draw on forty men to fill up gaps, an' I'll do it
before I let any range jumper cheat me out of what's mine. When you
buck that line, come ready for trouble."

"Yore line'll burn you before you get through pampering it," retorted
Meeker, angrily.

"So? We'll pamper anybody that tries to keep us from pampering our
line. If there are any burns they'll not be salved in _our_ bunk
house. So long."

Meeker laughed, stretched, and slipped his thumbs in the arm-holes of
his vest, watching the Bar-20 foreman ride away. Then he frowned and
snapped his fingers angrily. "We'll keep you busy on yore 'line' when
I get ready to play th' cards I'm looking for!" he exclaimed. "Th'
gall of him! Telling me I can't pasture where I wants! By G-d, I'll be
told I'm using his sunlight an' breathing his air!"

He stepped forward. "Curley! Chick! Dan!"

A moment later the three men stood before him.

"What is it, Jim?" asked Curley.

"You fellers drive north to-morrow. Pick up th' stragglers an' herd
'em close to that infernal line. Don't drive 'em over till I tell you,
but don't let none stray south again; savvy? If they want to stray
north it's none of our business."

"Good!"

"Fine!"

"That's th' way to talk!"

"Don't start nothing, but if trouble comes yore way take care of
yoreselves," Meeker remarked. "I'm telling you to herd up on our north
range, that's all."

"Shore; we'll do it!" laughed Curley.

"Is that house on th' peak guarded?" Meeker asked.

"Somebody's there most of th' time," replied Dan Morgan.

"Yes; it's their bunk house now," explained Chick.

"All right; don't forget to-morrow."

CHAPTER XI

THREE IS A CROWD

When Buck reached the line on his return Hopalong was the first man he
met and his orders were to the point: "Hold this line till h--l
freezes, drive all H2 cows across it, an' don't start a fight; but be
shore to finish any that zephyrs up. Keep yore eyes open."

Hopalong grinned and replied that he would hold the line that long and
then skate on the ice, that any cow found trying to cross would get
indignant, and that he and trouble were old friends. Buck laughed and
rode on.

"Red Eagle, old cayuse!" cried the line rider, slapping the animal
resoundingly. "We're shore ready!" And Red Eagle, to show how ready he
was to resent such stinging familiarities, pitched viciously and bit
at his rider's leg.

"Hit her up, old devil!" yelled Hopalong, grabbing his sombrero and
applying the spurs. Red Eagle settled back to earth and then shot
forward at top speed along the line trail, bucking as often as he
could.

It was not long before Hopalong saw a small herd of H2 cows on Bar-20
land and he rode off to head them. When he got in front of the herd he
wheeled and dashed straight at it, yelling and firing his Colt, the
horse squealing and pitching at every jump.

"Ki-yi, yeow-eow-eow-eow!" he yelled, and the herd, terror-stricken,
wheeled and dashed towards their ranch. He followed to the line and
saw them meet and terrorize another herd, and he gleefully cried that
it would be a "shore 'nuf stampede."

"Look at 'em go, old Skyrocket," he laughed. The horse began to pitch
again but he soon convinced it that play time had passed.

"You old, ugly wart of a cayuse!" he cried, fighting it viciously as
it reared and plunged and bit. "Don't you know I can lick four like
you an' not touch leather! There, that's better. If you bite me again
I'll kick yore corrugations in! But we made 'em hit th' high trail,
didn't we, old hinge-back?"

He looked up and stiffened, feeling so foolish that he hardly knew
enough to tear off his sombrero, for before him, sitting quietly in
her saddle and looking clean through him, was Mary Meeker, a
contemptuous firmness about her lips.

"Good-afternoon, Miss Meeker," he said, wondering how much she had
seen and heard.

"I'll not spoil yore fun," she icily replied, riding away.

He stared after her until she had ridden around a chaparral and out of
his sight, and he slammed his sombrero on the ground and swore.

"D--n th' luck!"

Then he spurred to overtake her and when he saw her again she was
talking to Antonio, who was all smiles.

"Coffee-colored galoot!" Hopalong muttered, savagely. "I'll spill him
all over hisself some day, th' squint-eyed mud-image! Th' devil with
him, if he don't like my company he can amble."

He swept up to them, his hair stirred by the breeze and his right hand
resting on the butt of his Colt. Antonio was talking when he arrived,
but he had no regard for "Greasers" and interrupted without loss of
time.