Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
Johnny rode up to the hotel, got a Winchester and ammunition for it
from the stack of guns in the kitchen and then went to the stable
for Red's horse and Pepper. As he led them out he stopped to answer
a pertinent question from the upper window of the hotel and rode off
again, leading the extra mounts.
Ed Doane lowered the rifle and scratched his head. "Goin' for
a moonlight ride," he repeated in disgust as he drew back from
the window. "Cussed if punchers ain't gettin' more locoed every
day. Moonlight ride! Shore--go out an' look at th' scenery. Looks
different in th' moonlight--bah! To me a pancake looks like a pancake
by kerosene, daylight, wood fire or--or moonlight. I suppose th'
moonlight'll get into 'em an' they'll be singin' love-songs an'
harmonizin'; but thank th' Lord I don't have to go along!" He glanced
around at a sudden _thap!_ grinned in the darkness at the double
planking on that side wall and sat down again. "Shoot!" he growled.
"Shoot twice! Shoot an' be d--d! Waste 'em! Reckon th' moonlight's got
into you, you cow-stealin', murderin' pup." Filling his pipe he packed
and lit it, blew several clouds through nose and mouth and scratched
his head again. "Goin' for a moonlight ride, huh? Well, mebby you are,
Johnny, my lad; but Ed Doane's bettin' there's more'n a ride in it.
You didn't go for no moonlight rides before that missin' friend of
yourn turned up; an' then, right away, you ride up on one hoss, collect
two more an' go gallivantin' off under th' moon. I'm guessin' close.
Eddie Doane, I'll bet you a tenspot them three grizzlies are out for to
put their ropes on them rewards. An' I hope they collect, cussed if I
don't. That Scotch trail-boss is puttin' on too many airs for me--an'
he's rilin' Nelson slow but shore. Go get it, Bar-20: I'm bettin' on
you."
There came steps to his door. "Ar-re ye there, Ed?" called a voice.
"Shore; come in, Murphy."
The door opened and closed as the cook entered. "Have ye a pipeful?
Mine's all gone."
"Help yourself," answered Doane, tossing the sack. "There it is, by
yore County Cork feet."
"I have ut," grunted Murphy. "An' who was th' lad ye was talkin' to
from th' windy just now?"
"Nelson. He's goin' ridin' in th' moonlight. Must aim to go far, for
he's got three horses."
"Has he, now?" Murphy puffed in quiet satisfaction for a moment. "He's
a good la-ad, Ed. Goin' ridin', is he? Well, ridin' is fine for them as
likes it. But I'm wonderin' what he's doin' with th' kerosene I gave
him?"
"Kerosene? When?"
"Whin he come in with his friend Cassidy--an' a fine bye _that_ man is,
too. Shure: a hull canteen av it. Two gallons. He says for me to kape
it quiet: as if I'd be tellin'! Quayle would have me scalp if he knowed
it--givin' away his ile like that. Now where ye goin' so fast?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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