Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
When they reached the ford they found a driftwood-dotted flood roaring
around the bend, three times as wide as it was ordinarily, for the
hills made a watershed that gave quick results in such a rain.
"Now Red Eagle, old cayuse, here's where you swim," Hopalong laughed,
riding up stream so he would not be carried past the bottom of the
hill trail on the farther side. Plunging in, the two horses swam
gallantly across, landing within a few feet of the point aimed at, and
scrambled up the slippery path, down which poured a stream of water.
When they reached the half-way point between the ford and the ranch
houses the storm slackened, evolving into an ordinary rain, which
Hopalong remarked would last all day. Red nodded and then pointed to a
miserable, rain-soaked calf, which moved away at their approach.
"Do you see that!" he exclaimed. "Our brand, an' Meeker's ear notch!"
"That explains th' shovel being left on th' dam," quickly replied
Hopalong. "It would be plumb crazy for th' H2 to make a combination
like that ear notch an' our brand, an' you can gamble they don't know
nothing about it. Th' gent that left Meeker's shovel _for us to find_
did that, too. You know if any of th' H2 cut th' dam they wouldn't
forget to take th' shovel with 'em, Red. It's Antonio, that's who it
is. He's trying to make a bigger fight along th' line an' stir things
up generally so he can rustle promiscuous. Well, we'll give all our
time to th' rustling end from now on, if I have got any voice in th'
matter. An' I hope to th' Lord I can get within gun range of that
coyote of a Greaser. Why, by th' A'mighty, I'll go down an' plug him
on his own ground just as soon as I can get away, which will be
to-morrow! That's just what I'll do! I'll stop his plays or know th'
reason why."
"An' I'm with you--you'll take a big chance going down there alone,"
Red replied. "_After_ Meeker hears what we've got to say he'll be
blamed glad we came."
An hour later they stopped at the ranch house, a squat, square
building, flat of roof, its adobe walls three feet thick and
impenetrable to heat. Stripping saddles and bridles from their
streaming mounts, they drove the animals into a large corral and ran
to the bunk house, where laughter greeted their appearance.
"Swimming?" queried Johnny, putting aside his harmonica.
"Hey, you! Get out of here an' lean up against th' corral till you
shed some of that water!" cried Lanky, the wounded, watching the
streams from their clothes run over the floor. "We'll be afloat in a
minute if you don't get out--we ain't no fishes."
"You shut up," retorted Red. "We'll put you out there to catch what
water we missed if you gets funny," he threatened, stripping as
rapidly as he could. He hung the saturated garments on pegs in the
gallery wall and had Pete rub him down briskly, while Billy did the
same for his soaked companion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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