Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Forgot all about yore piebald," retorted Arch. "But if you must have
a cayuse you can ask my old man for one when you get to Highbank. I'd
do it for you, only me an' him ain't on th' best of terms right now."
He turned to his two new friends. "All you got to do now is foller th'
wagon tracks to town."
"So-long," said the two, and whirled away.
They spent the night not many miles north of Big Creek and were riding
again at dawn. As they drew nearer to their objective the frisking wind
sent clouds of dust whirling around them to their discomfort.
"That must be th' town," grunted Red through his kerchief as his eyes,
squinting between nearly closed lids, caught sight of Mesquite through
a momentary opening in the dust-filled air to the southeast.
"Hope so," growled his companion. "Cussed glad of it. This is goin' to
be a whizzer. Look at th' tops of them sand hills yonder--streamin'
into th' air like smoke from a roarin' prairie fire. Here's where we
separate. I'm takin' to th' first shack I find. Don't forget our names,
an' that we're strangers, for awhile, anyhow."
Red nodded. "Bill Long an' Red Thompson," he muttered as they parted.
Not long thereafter Hopalong dismounted in the rear of Kane's and put
his horse in the nearer of the two stables, doing what he could for the
animal's comfort, and then stepped to the door. He paused, glanced back
at the "P. W." brand on the horse and smiled. "Red's is a Horseshoe
cayuse. That's what I call luck!" and plunged into the sand blasts.
Bumping into the wall of Kane's big building he followed it, turned the
corner, and groped his way through the front door.
At the sudden gust the bartender looked around and growled. "Close that
door! _Pronto!_"
The newcomer slammed it shut and leaned against the wall, rubbing at
his eyelids and face, and shed sand at every movement.
The bartender slid a glass of water across the bar. "Here; wash it
out. You'll only make 'em worse, rubbin'," he said as the other began
rubbing his lips and spitting energetically.
Bill Long obeyed, nodded his thanks and glanced furtively at the door,
and became less alert. "Much obliged. I didn't get all there was
flyin', but I got a-plenty."
The dispenser of drinks smiled. "Lucky gettin' in out of it when you
did."
"Yes," replied Bill, nervously. "Yes; plumb lucky. This will raise th'
devil with th' scenery."
"Won't be a trail left," suggested the bartender, watching closely.
Bill glanced up quickly, sighed with satisfaction and then glanced
hurriedly around the room. "Whose place is this?" he whispered out of
the corner of his mouth.
"Pecos Kane's," grunted the bartender, greatly pleased about something.
His pleasure was increased by the quick look of relief which flashed
across the other's face, and he chuckled. "Yo're all right in here."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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