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The Tale Of A Cigarette








From: Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-up

The open door revealed three men asleep on the earthen floor, two of
whom were Mexicans. Mr. Cassidy then for the first time felt called
upon to relieve his companion of the Colt's which so sorely itched
that gentleman's thigh and then disarmed the sleeping guards.

"One man an' a half," murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in his creed
that it took four Mexicans to make one Texan.

In the far corner of the room were two bronchos, one of which tried
in vain to kick Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away.
The noise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their
feet, their hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the
weapons which peeked contentedly from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy's open
shirt. One of the Mexicans made a lightning-like grab for the back of
his neck for the knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the
front of his neck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the
knife flashed past Mr. Cassidy's arm, wide by two feet, and thudded
into the door frame, where it hummed angrily.

"The only man who could do that right was th' man who invented it,
Mr. Bowie, of Texas," explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then
he glanced at the broncho, that was squealing in rage and fear at the
shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small room, and laughed.

"That's my cayuse, all right, an' he wasn't up no cactus nor
roostin' on th' roof, neither. He's th' most affectionate beast I ever
saw. It took me nigh onto six months afore I could ride him without
fighting him to a standstill," said Mr. Cassidy to his guest. Then he
turned to the horse and looked it over. "Come here! What d'yu mean,
acting thataway? Yu ragged end of nothin' wobbling in space! Yu wall-
eyed, ornery, locoed guide to Hades! Yu won't be so frisky when yu've
made them seventy hot miles between here an' Alkaline in five hours,"
he promised, as he made his way toward the animal.

Mr. Travennes walked over to the opposite wall and took down a pouch
of tobacco which hung from a peg. He did this in a manner suggesting
ownership, and after he had deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand he
put the pouch in his pocket and, lighting up, inhaled deeply and with
much satisfaction. Mr. Cassidy turned around and glanced the group
over, wondering if the tobacco had been left in the hut on a former
call.

"Did yu find yore makings?" He asked, with a note of congratulations
in his voice.

"Yep. Want one?" Asked Mr. Travennes.

Mr. Cassidy ignored the offer and turned to the guard whom he had
found asleep.

"Is that his tobacco?" He asked, and the guard, anxious to make
everything run smoothly, told the truth and answered:

"Shore. He left it here last night," whereupon Mr. Travennes swore
and Mr. Cassidy smiled grimly.

"Then yu knows how yore cayuse got in an' how mine got out," said
the latter. "I wish yu would explain," he added, fondling his Colts.

Mr. Travennes frowned and remained silent.

"I can tell yu, anyhow," continued Mr. Cassidy, still smiling, but
his eyes and jaw belied the smile. "Yu took them cayuses out because
yu wanted yourn to be found in their places. Yu remembered Santa Fe
an' it rankled in yu. Not being man enough to notify me that yu'd
shoot on sight an' being afraid my friends would get yu if yu plugged
me on th' sly, yu tried to make out that me an' Red rustled yore
cayuses. That meant a lynching with me an' Red in th' places of honor.
Yu never saw Red afore, but yu didn't care if he went with me. Yu
don't deserve fair play, but I'm going to give it to yu because I
don't want anybody to say that any of th' Bar-20 ever murdered a man,
not even a skunk like yu.

My friends have treated me too square for that. Yu can take this gun
an yu can do one of three things with it, which are: walk out in th' open
a hundred paces an' then turn an walk toward me-after you face me yu
can set it a-going whenever yu want to; the second is, put it under yore
hat an' I'll put mine an' th' others back by the cayuses. Then we'll toss up
an' th' lucky man gets it to use as he wants. Th' third is, shoot yourself."

Mr. Cassidy punctuated the close of his ultimatum by handing the
weapon, muzzle first, and, because the other might be an adept at
"twirling," he kept its recipient covered during the operation. Then,
placing his second Colt's with the captured weapons, he threw them
through the door, being very careful not to lose the drop on his now
armed prisoner.

Mr. Travennes looked around and wiped the sweat from his forehead,
and being an observant gentleman, took the proffered weapon and walked
to the east, directly toward the sun, which at this time was halfway
to the meridian. The glare of its straight rays and those reflected
from the shining sand would, in a measure, bother Mr. Cassidy and
interfere with the accuracy of his aim, and he was always thankful for
small favors.

Mr. Travennes was the possessor of accurate knowledge regarding the
lay of the land, and the thought came to him that there was a small
but deep hole out toward the east and that it was about the required
distance away. This had been dug by a man who had labored all day in
the burning sun to make an oven so that he could cook mesquite root in
the manner he had seen the Apaches cook it. Mr. Travennes blessed
hobbies, specific and general, stumbled thoughtlessly and disappeared
from sight as the surprised Mr. Cassidy started forward to offer his
assistance.

Upon emphatic notification from the man in the hole that
his help was not needed, Mr. Cassidy wheeled around and in great haste
covered the distance separating him from the hut, whereupon Mr.
Travennes swore in self-congratulation and regret. Mr. Cassidy's shots
barked a cactus which leaned near Mr. Travennes' head and flecked
several clouds of alkali near that person's nose, causing him to
sneeze, duck, and grin.

"It's his own gun," grumbled Mr. Cassidy as a bullet passed through
his sombrero, having in mind the fact that his opponent had a whole
belt full of .44'S. If it had been Mr. Cassidy's gun that had been
handed over he would have enjoyed the joke on Mr. Travennes, who would
have had five cartridges between himself and the promised eternity, as
be would have been unable to use the .44'S in Mr. Cassidy's .45, while
the latter would have gladly consented to the change, having as he did
an extra .45. Never before had Mr. Cassidy looked with reproach upon
his .45 caliber Colt's, and he sighed as he used it to notify Mr.
Travennes that arbitration was not to be considered, which that person
indorsed, said indorsement passing so close to Mr. Cassidy's ear that
he felt the breeze made by it.

"He's been practicin' since I plugged him up in Santa Fe," thought
Mr. Cassidy, as he retired around the hut to formulate a plan of
campaign.

Mr. Travennes sang "Hi-le, hi-lo," and other selections, principally
others, and wondered how Mr. Cassidy could hoist him out. The slack of
his belt informed him that he was in the middle of a fast, and
suggested starvation as the derrick that his honorable and disgusted
adversary might employ.

Mr. Cassidy, while figuring out his method of procedure, absent-
mindedly jabbed a finger in his eye, and the ensuing tears floated an
idea to him. He had always had great respect for ricochet shots since
his friend Skinny Thompson had proved their worth on the hides of
Sioux. If he could disturb the sand and convey several grains of it to
Mr. Travennes' eyes the game would be much simplified. While planning
for the proposed excavation, a la Colt's, he noticed several stones
lying near at hand, and a new and better scheme presented itself for
his consideration. If Mr. Travennes could be persuaded to get out of-
well, it was worth trying.

Mr. Cassidy lined up his gloomy collection and tersely ordered them
to turn their backs to him and to stay in that position, the
suggestion being that if they looked around they wouldn't be able to
dodge quickly enough. He then slipped bits of his lariat over their
wrists and ankles, tying wrists to ankles and each man to his
neighbor. That finished to his satisfaction, he dragged them in the
hut to save them from the burning rays of the sun.

Having performed this act of kindness, he crept along the hot sand,
taking advantage of every bit of cover afforded, and at last he
reached a point within a hundred feet of the besieged. During the trip
Mr. Travennes sang to his heart's content, some of the words being
improvised for the occasion and were not calculated to increase Mr.
Cassidy's respect for his own wisdom if he should hear them. Mr.
Cassidy heard, however, and several fragments so forcibly intruded on
his peace of mind that he determined to put on the last verse himself
and to suit himself.

Suddenly Mr. Travennes poked his head up and glanced at the hut. He
was down again so quickly that there was no chance for a shot at him
and he believed that his enemy was still sojourning in the rear of the
building, which caused him to fear that he was expected to live on
nothing as long as he could and then give himself up. Just to show his
defiance he stretched himself out on his back and sang with all his
might, his sombrero over his face to keep the glare of the sun out of
his eyes.

He was interrupted, however, forgot to finish a verse as he
had intended, and jumped to one side as a stone bounced off his leg.
Looking up, he saw another missile curve into his patch of sky and
swiftly bear down on him. He avoided it by a hair's breadth and
wondered what had happened. Then what Mr. Travennes thought was a
balloon, being unsophisticated in matters pertaining to aerial
navigation, swooped down upon him and smote him on the shoulder and
also bounced off.

Mr. Travennes hastily laid music aside and took up
elocution as he dodged another stone and wished that the mesquite-
loving crank had put on a roof. In evading the projectile he let his
sombrero appear on a level with the desert, and the hum of a bullet as
it passed through his head-gear and into the opposite wall made him
wish that there had been constructed a cellar, also.

"Hi-le, hi-lo" intruded upon his ear, as Mr. Cassidy got rid of the
surplus of his heart's joy. Another stone the size of a man's foot
shaved Mr. Travennes' ear and he hugged the side of the hole nearest
his enemy.

"Hibernate, blank yu!" derisively shouted the human catapult as he
released a chunk of sandstone the size of a quail. "Draw in yore laigs
an' buck," was his God-speed to the missile.

"Hey, yu!" indignantly yowled Mr. Travennes from his defective storm
cellar. "Don't yu know any better'n to heave things thataway?"

"Hi-le, hi-lo," sang Mr. Cassidy, as another stone soared aloft in
the direction of the complainant. Then he stood erect and awaited
results with a Colt's in his hand leveled at the rim of the hole. A
hat waved and an excited voice bit off chunks of expostulation and
asked for an armistice. Then two hands shot up and Mr. Travennes, sore
and disgusted and desperate, popped his head up an blinked at Mr.
Cassidy's gun.

"Yu was fillin' th' hole up," remarked Mr. Travennes in an accusing
tone, hiding the real reason for his evacuation. "In a little while
I'd a been th' top of a pile instead of th' bottom of a hole," he
announced, crawling out and rubbing his head.

Mr. Cassidy grinned and ordered his prisoner to one side while be
secured the weapon which lay in the hole. Having obtained it as
quickly as possible be slid it in his open shirt and clambered out
again.

"Yu remind me of a feller I used to know," remarked Mr. Travennes,
as he led the way to the hut, trying not to limp. "Only he throwed
dynamite. That was th' way he cleared off chaparral-blowed it off. He
got so used to heaving away everything he lit that he spoiled three
pipes in two days."

Mr. Cassidy laughed at the fiction and then became grave as he
pictured Mr. Connors sitting on the rock and facing down a line of
men, any one of whom was capable of his destruction if given the
interval of a second.

When they arrived at the hut Mr. Cassidy observed that the prisoners
had moved considerably. There was a cleanly swept

trail four yards long where they had dragged themselves, and they
sat in the end nearer the guns. Mr. Cassidy smiled and fired close to
the Mexican's ear, who lost in one frightened jump a little of what he
had so laboriously gained.

"Yu'll wear out yore pants," said Mr. Cassidy, and then added
grimly, "an' my patience."

Mr. Travennes smiled and thought of the man who so ably seconded Mr.
Cassidy's efforts and who was probably shot by this time. The outfit
of the Bar-20 was so well known throughout the land that he was aware
the name of the other was Red Connors. An unreasoning streak of
sarcasm swept over him and he could not resist the opportunity to get
in a stab at his captor.

"Mebby yore pard has wore out somebody's patience, too," said Mr.
Travennes, suggestively and with venom.

His captor wheeled toward him, his face white with passion, and Mr.
Travennes shrank back and regretted the words.

"I ain't shootin' dogs this here trip," said Mr. Cassidy, trembling
with scorn and anger, "so yu can pull yourself together. I'll give yu
another chance, but yu wants to hope almighty hard that Red is O. K.
If he ain't, I'll blow yu so many ways at once that if yu sprouts
yu'll make a good acre of weeds. If he is all right yu'd better
vamoose this range, for there won't be no hole for yu to crawl into
next time. What friends yu have left will have to tote yu off an'
plant yu," he finished with emphasis. He drove the horses outside,
and, after severing the bonds on his prisoners, lined them up.

"Yu," he began, indicating all but Mr. Travennes, "yu amble right
smart toward Canada," pointing to the north. "Keep a-going till yu
gets far enough away so a Colt won't find yu." Here he grinned with
delight as he saw his Sharp's rifle in its sheath on his saddle and,
drawing it forth, he put away his Colts and glanced at the trio, who
were already industriously plodding northward. "Hey!" he shouted, and
when they sullenly turned to see what new idea he had found he
gleefully waved his rifle at them and warned them further: "This is a
Sharp's an' it's good for half a mile, so don't stop none too soon.

Having sent them directly away from their friends so they could not
have him "potted" on the way back, he mounted his broncho and
indicated to Mr. Travennes that he, too, was to ride, watching that
that person did not make use of the Winchester which Mr. Connors was
foolish enough to carry around on his saddle. Winchesters were Mr.
Cassidy's pet aversion and Mr. Connors' most prized possession, this
difference of opinion having upon many occasions caused hasty words
between them. Mr. Connors, being better with his Winchester than Mr.
Cassidy was with his Sharp's, had frequently proved that his choice
was the wiser, but Mr. Cassidy was loyal to the Sharp's and refused to
be convinced. Now, however, the Winchester became pregnant with
possibilities and, therefore, Mr. Travennes rode a few yards to the
left and in advance, where the rifle was in plain sight, hanging as it
did on the right of Mr. Connors' saddle, which Mr. Travennes graced so
well.

The journey back to town was made in good time and when they came to
the buildings Mr. Cassidy dismounted and bade his companion do
likewise, there being too many corners that a fleeing rider could take
advantage of. Mr. Travennes felt of his bumps and did so, wishing hard
things about Mr. Cassidy.





Next: The Penalty

Previous: Travennes' Discomfiture



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