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Rustlers On The Range

From: Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-up

The affair at Cactus Springs had more effect on the life at the Bar-
20 than was realized by the foreman. News travels rapidly, and certain
men, whose attributes were not of the sweetest, heard of it and swore
vengeance, for Slim Travennes had many friends, and the result of his
passing began to show itself. Outlaws have as their strongest defense
the fear which they inspire, and little time was lost in making
reprisals, and these caused Buck Peters to ride into Buckskin one
bright October morning and then out the other side of the town. Coming
to himself with a start he looked around shamefacedly and retraced his
course. He was very much troubled, for, as foreman of the Bar-2o, he
had many responsibilities, and when things ceased to go aright he was
expected not only to find the cause of the evil, but also the remedy.
That was what he was paid seventy dollars a month for and that was
what he had been endeavoring to do. As yet, however, he had only
accomplished what the meanest cook's assistant had done. He knew the
cause of his present woes to be rustlers (cattle thieves), and that
was all.

Riding down the wide, quiet street, he stopped and dismounted before
the ever-open door of a ramshackle, one-story frame building. Tossing
the reins over the flattened ears of his vicious pinto he strode into
the building and leaned easily against the bar, where he drummed with
his fingers and sank into a reverie.

A shining bald pate, bowed over an open box, turned around and
revealed a florid face, set with two small, twinkling blue eyes, as
the proprietor, wiping his hands on his trousers, made his way to
Buck's end of the bar.

"Mornin', Buck. How's things?`

The foreman, lost in his reverie, continued to stare out the door.

"Mornin'," repeated the man behind the bar. "How's things?"

"Oh!" ejaculated the foreman, smiling, "purty cussed."

"Anything flew?"

"Th' C-80 lost another herd last night."

His companion swore and placed a bottle at the foreman's elbow, but
the latter shook his head. "Not this mornin'-I'll try one of them vile
cigars, however."

"Them cigars are th' very best that-" began the proprietor,
executing the order.

"Oh, heck!" exclaimed Buck with weary disgust . "Yu don't have to
palaver none: I shore knows all that by heart."

"Them cigars-" repeated the proprietor.

"Yas, yas; them cigars-I know all about them cigars. Yu gets them
for twenty dollars a thousand an' hypnotizes us into payin' yu a
hundred," replied the foreman, biting off the end `of his weed. Then
he stared moodily and frowned. "I wonder why it is?" He asked. "We
punchers like good stuff an' we pays good prices with good money. What
do we get? Why, cabbage leaves an' leather for our smokin' an' alcohol
an' extract for our drink. Now, up in Kansas City we goes to a
sumptious layout, pays less an' gets bang-up stuff. If yu smelled one
of them K. C. cigars yu'd shore have to ask what it was, an' as for
the liquor, why, yu'd think St. Peter asked yu to have one with him.
It's shore wrong somewhere."

"They have more trade in K. C.," suggested the proprietor.

"An' help, an' taxes, an' a license, an' rent, an' brass, cut glass,
mahogany an' French mirrors," countered the foreman.

"They have more trade," reiterated the man with the cigars.

"Forty men spend thirty dollars apiece with yu every month. "The
proprietor busied himself under the bar. "Yu'll feel better to-morrow.
Anyway, what do yu care, yu won't lose yore job," he said, emerging.

Buck looked at him and frowned, holding back the words which formed
in anger. What was the use, he thought, when every man judged the
world in his own way.

"Have yu seen any of th' boys?" He asked, smiling again.

"Nary a boy. Who do yu reckon's doin' all this rustlin'?"

"I'm reckonin', not shoutin'," responded the foreman.

The proprietor looked out the window and grinned: "Here comes one of
yourn now.

The newcomer stopped his horse in a cloud of dust, playfully kicked
the animal in the ribs and entered, dusting the alkali from him with a
huge sombrero. Then he straightened up and sniffed: "What's burnin'?"
he asked, simulating alarm. Then he noticed the cigar between the
teeth of his foreman and grinned: "Gee, but yore a brave man, Buck."

"Hullo, Hopalong," said the foreman. "Want a smoke?" Waving his hand
toward the box on the bar.

Mr. Hopalong Cassidy side-stepped and began to roll a cigarette:
"Shore, but I'll burn my own-I know what it is."

"What was yu doin' to my cayuse afore yu come in?" Asked Buck.

"Nothin'," replied the newcomer. "That was mine what I kicked in th'

"How is it yore ridin' the calico?" Asked the foreman. "I thought yu
was dead stuck on that piebald."

"That piebald's a goat; he's beein livin' off my pants lately,"
responded Hopalong. "Every time I looks th' other way he ambles over
and takes a bite at me. Yu just wait `til this rustler business is
roped, an' branded, an' yu'll see me eddicate that blessed scrapheap
into eatin' grass again. He swiped Billy's shirt th' other day-took it
right off th' corral wall, where Billy's left it to dry. "Then, seeing
Buck raise his eyebrows, he explained: "Shore, he washed it again.
That makes three times since last fall."

The proprietor laughed and pushed out the ever-ready bottle, but
Hopalong shoved it aside and told the reason: "Ever since I was up to
K. C. I've been spoiled. I'm drinkin' water an' slush."

"For Pete's sake, has any more of yu fellers been up to K. C.?"
queried the proprietor in alarm.

"Shore: Red an' Billy was up there, too." responded Hopalong. "Red's
got a few remarks to shout to yu about yore pain-killer. Yu better
send for some decent stuff afore he comes to town," he warned.

Buck swung away from the bar and looked at his dead cigar. Then he
turned to Hopalong. "What did you find?" He asked.

"Same old story: nice wide trail up to th' Staked Plain-then

"It shore beats me," soliloquized the foreman. "It shore beats me."

"Think it was Tamale Jose's old gang?" Asked Hopalong.

"If it was they took th' wrong trail home-that ain't th' way to

Hopalong tossed aside his half-smoked cigarette. "Well, come on
home; what's th' use stewin' over it? It'll come out all O.K. in th'
wash." Then he laughed: "There won't be no piebald waitin' for it."

Evading Buck's playful blow he led the way to the door, and soon
they were a cloud of dust on the plain. The proprietor, despairing of
customers under the circumstances, absent-mindedly wiped oil on the bar,
and sought his chair for a nap, grumbling about the way his trade had
fallen off, for there were few customers, and those who did call were
heavy with loss of sleep, and with anxiety, and only paused long
enough to toss off their drink. On the ranges there were occurrences
which tried men's souls.

For several weeks cattle had been disappearing from the ranges and
the losses had long since passed the magnitude of those suffered when
Tamale Jose and his men had crossed the Rio Grande and repeatedly
levied heavy toll on the sleek herds of the Pecos Valley. Tamale Jose
had raided once too often, and prosperity and plenty had followed on
the ranches and the losses had been forgotten until the fall round-ups
clearly showed that rustlers were again at work.

Despite the ingenuity of the ranch owners and the unceasing
vigilance and night rides of the cow-punchers, the losses steadily
increased until there was promised a shortage which would permit no
drive to the western terminals of the railroad that year. For two
weeks the banks of the Rio Grande had been patrolled and sharp-eyed
men searched daily for trails leading southward, for it was not
strange to think that the old raiders were again at work,
notwithstanding the fact that they had paid dearly for their former

The patrols failed to discover anything out of the
ordinary and the searchers found no trails. Then it was that the
owners and foremen of the four central ranches met in Cowan's saloon
and sat closeted together for all of one hot afternoon.

The conference resulted in riders being dispatched from all the
ranches represented, and one of the couriers, Mr. Red Connors, rode
north, his destination being far-away Montana. All the ranches within
a radius of a hundred miles received letters and blanks and one week
later the Pecos Valley Cattle-Thief Elimination Association was
organized and working, with Buck as Chief Ranger.

One of the outcomes of Buck's appointment was a sudden and marked
immigration into the affected territory. Mr. Connors returned from
Montana with Mr. Frenchy McAllister, the foreman of the Tin-Cup, who
was accompanied by six of his best and most trusted men. Mr.
McAllister and party were followed by Mr. You-bet Somes, foreman of
the Two-X-Two of Arizona, and five of his punchers, and later on the
same day Mr. Pie Willis, accompanied by Mr. Billy Jordan and his two
brothers, arrived from the Panhandle. The O-Bar-O, situated close to
the town of Muddy Wells, increased its payroll by the addition of nine
men, each of whom bore the written recommendation of the foreman of
the Bar-20. The C-8o, Double Arrow and the Three Triangle also
received heavy reinforcements, and even Carter, owner of the Barred
Horseshoe, far removed from the zone of the depredations, increased
his outfits by half their regular strength.

Buck believed that if a thing was worth doing at all that it was worth
doing very well, and his acquaintances were numerous and loyal.
The collection of individuals that responded to the call were noteworthy
examples of "gun-play" and their aggregate value was at par with twice their
numbers in cavalry.

Each ranch had one large ranch-house and numerous line-houses
scattered along the boundaries. These latter, while intended as camps
for the outriders, had been erected in the days, none too remote, when
Apaches, Arrapahoes, and even Cheyennes raided southward, and they had
been constructed with the idea of defense paramount. Upon more than
one occasion a solitary line-rider had retreated within their adobe
walls and had successfully resisted all the cunning and ferocity of a
score of paint-bedaubed warriors and, when his outfit had rescued him,
emerged none the worse for his ordeal.

On the Bar-20, Buck placed these houses in condition to withstand
seige. Twin barrels of water stood in opposite corners, provisions
were stored on the hanging shelves and the bunks once again reveled in
untidiness. Spare rifles, in pattern ranging from long-range Sharp's
and buffalo guns to repeating rifles, leaned against the walls, and
unbroken boxes of cartridges were piled above the bunks. Instead of
the lonesome outrider, he placed four men to each house, two of whom
were to remain at home and hold the house while their companions rode
side by side on their multi-mile beat.

There were six of these houses and, instead of returning each night to the
same line-house, the outriders kept on and made the circuit, thus keeping
every one well informed and breaking the monotony. These measures were
expected to cause the rustling operations to cease at once, but the effect was to
shift the losses to the Double Arrow, the line-houses of which boasted
only one puncher each. Unreasonable economy usually defeats its

The Double Arrow was restricted on the north by the Staked Plain,
which in itself was considered a superb defense. The White Sand Hills
formed its eastern boundary and were thought to be second only to the
northern protection. The only reason that could be given for the
hitherto comparative immunity from the attacks of the rustlers was
that its cattle clung to the southern confines where there were
numerous springs, thus making imperative the crossing of its territory
to gain the herds.

It was in line-house No. 3, most remote of all, that Johnny Redmond
fought his last fight and was found face down in the half ruined house
with a hole in the back of his head, which proved that one man was
incapable of watching all the loop holes in four walls at once. There
must have been some casualties on the other side, for Johnny was
reputed to be very painstaking in his "gunplay," and the empty shells
which lay scattered on the floor did not stand for as many ciphers, of
that his foreman was positive.

He was buried the day he was found, and the news of his death ran quickly
from ranch to ranch and made more than one careless puncher arise and
pace the floor in anger. More men came to the Double Arrow and its
sentries were doubled. The depredations continued, however, and one night
a week later Frank Swift reeled into the ranch-house and fell exhausted across
the supper table. Rolling hoof-beats echoed flatly and died away on the plain,
but the men who pursued them returned empty handed. The wounds of the
unfortunate were roughly dressed and in his delirium he recounted the
fight. His companion was found literally shot to pieces twenty paces
from the door. One wall was found blown in, and this episode, when
coupled with the use of dynamite, was more than could be tolerated.

When Buck had been informed of this he called to him Hopalong
Cassidy, Red Connors and Frenchy McAllister, and the next day the
three men rode north and the contingents of the ranches represented in
the Association were divided into two squads, one of which was to
remain at home and guard the ranches; the other, to sleep fully
dressed and armed and never to stray far from their ranch-houses and
horses. These latter would be called upon to ride swiftly and far when
the word came.

Next: Mr Trendley Assumes Added Importance

Previous: The Penalty

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