The Call

: Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-up

At three o'clock the next morning a long line of men slowly filed

into the cottonwood grove, being silently swallowed up by the dark.

Dismounting, they left their horses in the care of three of their

number and disappeared into the brush. Ten minutes later forty of the

force were distributed along the edge of the grove fringing on the

bank of the river and twenty more minutes gave ample time for a

detachment of twenty
to cross the stream and find concealment in the

edge of the woods which ran from the river to where the corral made an

effective barrier on the south.



Eight crept down on the western side of the camp and worked their way

close to Mr. Trendley's cabin door, and the seven who followed this

detachment continued and took up their positions at the rear of the corral,

where, it was hoped, some of the rustlers would endeavor to

escape into the woods by working their way through the cattle in the corral

and then scaling the stockade wall. These seven were from the Three

Triangle and the Double Arrow, and they were positive that any such attempt

would not be a success from the view-point of the rustlers.



Two of those who awaited the pleasure of Mr. Trendley crept forward,

and a rope swished through the air and settled over the stump which

lay most convenient on the other side of the cabin door. Then the

slack moved toward the woods, raised from the ground as it grew taut

and, with the stump for its axis, swung toward the door, where it

rubbed gently against the rough logs. It was made of braided

horsehair, was half an inch in diameter and was stretched eight inches

above the ground.



As it touched the door, Lanky Smith, Hopalong and Red stepped out of

the shelter of the woods and took up their positions behind the cabin,

Lanky behind the northeast corner where he would be permitted to swing

his right arm. In his gloved right hand he held the carefully arranged

coils of a fifty-foot lariat, and should the chief of the rustlers

escape tripping he would have to avoid the cast of the best roper in

the southwest.



The two others took the northwest corner and one of

them leaned slightly forward and gently twitched the tripping-rope.

The man at the other end felt the signal and whispered to a companion,

who quietly disappeared in the direction of the river and shortly

afterward the mournful cry of a whip-poor-will dirged out on the early

morning air. It had hardly died away when the quiet was broken by one

terrific crash of rifles, and the two camp guards asleep at the fire

awoke in another world.



Mr. Trendley, sleeping unusually well for the unjust, leaped from

his bed to the middle of the floor and alighted on his feet and wide

awake. Fearing that a plot was being consummated to deprive him of his

leadership, he grasped the Winchester which leaned at the head of his

bed and, tearing open the door, crashed headlong to the earth. As he

touched the ground, two shadows sped out from the shelter of the cabin

wall and pounced upon him. Men who can rope, throw and tie a wild

steer in thirty seconds flat do not waste time in trussing operations,

and before a minute had elapsed he was being carried into the woods,

bound and helpless. Lanky sighed, threw the rope over one shoulder and

departed after his friends.



When Mr. Trendley came to his senses he found himself bound to a

tree in the grove near the horses. A man sat on a stump not far from

him, three others were seated around a small fire some distance to the

north, and four others, one of whom carried a rope, made their way

into the brush. He strained at his bonds, decided that the effort was

useless and watched the man on the stump, who struck a match and lit a

pipe. The prisoner watched the light flicker up and go out and there

was left in his mind a picture that he could never forget. The face

which had been so cruelly, so grotesquely revealed was that of Frenchy

McAllister, and across his knees lay a heavy caliber Winchester. A

curse escaped from the lips of the outlaw; the man on the stump spat

at a firefly and smiled.



From the south came the crack of rifles, incessant and sharp. The

reports rolled from one end of the clearing to the other and seemed to

sweep in waves from the center of the line to the ends. Faintly in the

infrequent lulls in the firing came an occasional report from the rear

of the corral, where some desperate rustler paid for his venture.



Buck went along the line and spoke to the riflemen, and after some

time had passed and the light had become stronger, he collected the

men into groups of five and six. Taking one group and watching it

closely, it could be seen that there was a world of meaning in this

maneuver. One man started firing at a particular window in an opposite

hut and then laid aside his empty gun and waited. When the muzzle of

his enemy's gun came into sight and lowered until it had nearly gained

its sight level, the rifles of the remainder of the group crashed out

in a volley and usually one of the bullets, at least, found its

intended billet. This volley firing became universal among the

besiegers and the effect was marked.



Two men sprinted from the edge of the woods near Mr. Trendley's

cabin and gained the shelter of the storehouse, which soon broke out

in flames. The burning brands fell over the main collection of huts,

where there was much confusion and swearing. The early hour at which

the attack had been delivered at first led the besieged to believe

that it was an Indian affair, but this impression was soon corrected

by the volley firing, which turned hope into despair. It was no great

matter to fight Indians, that they had done many times and found more

or less enjoyment in it; but there was a vast difference between brave

and puncher, and the chances of their salvation became very small.

They surmised that it was the work of the cow-men on whom they had

preyed and that vengeful punchers lay hidden behind that death-fringe

of green willow and hazel.



Red, assisted by his inseparable companion, Hopalong, laboriously

climbed up among the branches of a black walnut and hooked one leg

over a convenient limb. Then he lowered his rope and drew up the

Winchester which his accommodating friend fastened to it. Settling

himself in a comfortable position and sheltering his body somewhat by

the tree, he shaded his eyes by a hand and peered into the windows of

the distant cabins.



"How is she, Red?" Anxiously inquired the man on the ground.



"Bully: want to come up?"



"Nope. I'm goin' to catch yu when yu lets go," replied Hopalong with

a grin.



"Which same I ain't goin' to," responded the man in the tree.



He swung his rifle out over a forked limb and let it settle in the

crotch. Then he slew his head around until he gained the bead he

wished. Five minutes passed before he caught sight of his man and then

he fired. Jerking out the empty shell he smiled and called out to his

friend: "One."



Hopalong grinned and went off to tell Buck to put all the men in

trees.



Night came on and still the firing continued. Then an explosion

shook the woods. The storehouse had blown up and a sky full of burning

timber fell on the cabins and soon three were half consumed, their

occupants dropping as they gained the open air. One hundred paces

makes fine pot-shooting, as Deacon Rankin discovered when evacuation

was the choice necessary to avoid cremation. He never moved after he

touched the ground and Red called out: "Two," not knowing that his

companion had departed.



The morning of the next day found a wearied and hopeless garrison,

and shortly before noon a soiled white shirt was flung from a window

in the nearest cabin. Buck ran along the line and ordered the firing

to cease and caused to be raised an answering flag of truce. A full

minute passed and then the door slowly opened and a leg protruded,

more slowly followed by the rest of the man, and Cheyenne Charley

strode out to the bank of the river and sat down. His example was

followed by several others and then an unexpected event occurred.

Those in the cabins who preferred to die fighting, angered at this

desertion, opened fire on their former comrades, who barely escaped by

rolling down the slightly inclined bank into the river. Red fired

again and laughed to himself. Then the fugitives swam down the river

and landed under the guns of the last squad. They were taken to the

rear and, after being bound, were placed under a guard. There were

seven in the party and they looked worn out.



When the huts were burning the fiercest the uproar in the corral

arose to such a pitch as to drown all other sounds. There were left

within its walls a few hundred cattle whose brands had not yet been

blotted out, and these, maddened to frenzy by the shooting and the

flames, tore from one end of the enclosure to the other, crashing

against the alternate walls with a noise which could be heard far out

on the plain. Scores were trampled to death on each charge and finally

the uproar subsided in sheer want of cattle left with energy enough to

continue. When the corral was investigated the next day there were

found the bodies of four rustlers, but recognition was impossible.



Several of the defenders were housed in cabins having windows in the

rear walls, which the occupants considered fortunate. This opinion was

revised, however, after several had endeavored to escape by these

openings. The first thing that occurred when a man put his head out

was the hum of a bullet, and in two cases the experimenters lost all

need of escape.



The volley firing had the desired effect, and at dusk there remained

only one cabin from which came opposition. Such a fire was

concentrated on it that before an hour had passed the door fell in and

the firing ceased. There was a rush from the side, and the Barred

Horseshoe men who swarmed through the cabins emerged without firing a

shot. The organization that had stirred up the Pecos Valley ranches

had ceased to exist.



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