Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
"It's a toss-up whether Mac will wait for them to run it off," he said,
"when I tell him. He's gettin' more riled every minute, but he seemed
to calm down a little after Corwin visited him. Somethin' sort of pulls
him back when he gets to climbin' onto his hind legs, an' he ends up by
leanin' agin' th' wall an' swearin'. I'm not tellin' him nothin' about
anythin' but th' raid. You aimin' to go back to that water-hole?"
Hopalong shook his head. "No, sir," he answered. "There ain't no reason
to till th' raid happens. We're campin' on Sand Creek till you signal
that it's been run off. Time enough then for us to watch on that cussed
griddle."
"Have special signal for that?" suggested Red. "Say two, two an' three,
repeated. Mebby won't have time to hear what th' news is. When you get
our answer don't bother ridin' down here to tell us anythin'--we'll be
makin' tracks _pronto_."
Johnny nodded. "Two, two an' three is O. K. I'll be ridin' back to
tell Mac there's goin' to be a party on his west range some night soon.
I'm bettin' it'll be a bloody party, too. Say," he exclaimed, pulling
up, "Lukins an' Idaho was down last night. They're mad as h--l, an'
they're throwin' a cordon of riders plumb across th' hard stretch every
night. Lukins an' Mac are joinin' forces, an' from now on th' two
ranches are workin' together as one. With us scoutin' around east of
town somethin' shore ought to drop." He pressed Pepper's sleek sides
and started back to the sheltering hills.
"Somethin's _goin'_ to drop," growled Red, the memory of the jailing
burning strongly within him. "Don't forget, Kid--two, two an' three."
Johnny turned in his saddle, waved a hand and kept on going. Rounding
the westernmost hill he rode steadily until opposite the white patch of
sand on the northern slope and then, dismounting, collected firewood,
and built it up on the dead ashes of his signal fire, ready for the
match. Going on again he rode steadily until he reached the place in
the arroyo which lay directly behind the ranchhouse.
McCullough returned from a ride over the range to find his cheerful
friend smoking some of his tobacco.
"Want a job, Nelson?" asked the trail-boss, swinging from the saddle
with an easy agility belying his age and weight.
Johnny smiled at him. "Anythin', that don't take me away from th' ranch
too far or too long. Call it."
"One of th' boys, ridin' south of th' hills on a fool's errand, this
mornin', thought he saw smoke signals back of White Face," said
McCullough. "He says he reckons he's loco. I ain't goin' that far.
Think you could find out anythin' about 'em?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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