Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
McCullough considered the matter. "They'll leave a plain trail if they
raid th' east section," he muttered; "an' th' desert'll hold 'em to
a narrow strip north _or_ south. There's water up th' north way, but
there's people scattered all around, an' they're nat'rally near th'
water. South, there's less water, an' more people th' further they go.
They might tackle th' desert, but Lukins an' me figger they go west
from th' hard ground. I ain't agin' gamblin', but I don't gamble with
anythin' _I_ don't own. If yore friends heard them coyotes say 'west,'
I'm playin' my cards accordin' to their case-rack. I may call it wrong,
I may get a split, or I may win--but I'm backin' the' case-keepers,
'specially when they're keepin' th' rack for _me_. West it is--an' west
is where h--l will pop when they pay their visit. An' lemme tell you
this, Nelson: Win, lose, or split on th' raid, if it comes off within
a week, I'll be dead shore who's behind it, an' there's a cyclone due
in Mesquite right soon after. Twitchell had his chance. His game's no
good--I'm playin' th' cards I've drawn in my own way when they show
their hand in this raid. I'm bein' cold-decked by Corwin--but I'll warm
it a-plenty. You hang around an' see th' fireworks!"
Johnny stretched, relaxed, and grinned. "I'm aimin' to touch some
off, myself," he replied, "an' I reckon Hoppy an' Red will send up a
couple of rockets on their own account. Rockets?" He grinned. "No;
not rockets--there's allus burned sticks comin' down from rockets.
Besides, they're too smooth an' easy. Reckon they'll touch off some
pinwheels. Whizzin', tail-chasin' pinwheels; or mebby nigger-chasers.
Most likely they'll be nigger-chasers, th' way some folks'll be
steppin' lively to get out of th' way. Don't you bank on this bein'
_yore_ celebration--you'll only own th' lot an' make th' noise. Th'
grand display, th' glorious finish is Bar-20. Just plain, old-fashioned
Bar-20. Gee, Mac, it makes me a kid again!"
"It's got an easy job, then!" snorted the trail-boss.
CHAPTER XVII
A WELL-PLANNED RAID
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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