Trials Of The Convalescent

: Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-up

The days at the ranch passed in irritating idleness for those who had

obstructed the flight of hostile lead, and worse than any of the

patients was Hopalong, who fretted and fumed at his helplessness,

which retarded his recovery. But at last the day came when he was fit

for the saddle again, and he gave notice of his joy in whoops and

forthwith announced that he was entitled to a holiday; and Buck had

not the heart to refuse him



So he started forth in his quest of peace and pleasure, but instead

had found only trouble and had been forced to leave his card at almost

every place he had visited.



There was that affair in Red Hot Gulch, Colorado, where, under

pressure, he had invested sundry pieces of lead in the persons of

several obstreperous citizens and then had paced the zealous and

excitable sheriff to the state line.



He next was noticed in Cheyenne, where his deformity was vividly

dwelt upon, to the extent of six words, by one Tarantula Charley, the

aforesaid Charley not being able to proceed to greater length on

account of heart failure. As Charley had been a ubiquitous nuisance,

those present availed themselves of the opportunity offered by

Hopalong to indulge in a free drink.



Laramie was his next stopping place, and shortly after his

arrival he was requested to sing and dance by a local terror, who

informed all present that he was the only seventeen-buttoned

rattlesnake in the cow country. Hopalong, hurt and indignant at being

treated like a common tenderfoot, promptly knocked the terror down.

After he had irrigated several square feet of parched throats

belonging to the audience he again took up his journey and spent a day

at Denver, where he managed to avoid any further trouble.



Santa Fe loomed up before him several days later and he entered it

shortly before noon. At this time the old Spanish city was a bundle of

high-strung nerves, and certain parts of it were calculated to furnish

any and all kinds of excitement except revival meetings and church

fairs. Hopalong straddled a lively nerve before he had been in the

city an hour. Two local bad men, Slim Travennes and Tex Ewalt,

desiring to establish the fact that they were roaring prairie fires,

attempted to consume the placid and innocent stranger as he limped

across the plaza in search of a game of draw poker at the Black Hills

Emporium, with the result that they needed repairs, to the chagrin and

disgust of their immediate acquaintances, who endeavored to drown

their mortification and sorrow in rapid but somewhat wild gun play,

and soon remembered that they had pressing engagements elsewhere.



Hopalong reloaded his guns and proceeded to the Emporium, where he

found a game all prepared for him in every sense of the word. On the

third deal he objected to the way in which the dealer manipulated the

cards, and when the smoke cleared away he was the only occupant of the

room, except a dog belonging to the bartender that had intercepted a

stray bullet.



Hunting up the owner of the hound, he apologized for being the

indirect cause of the animal's death, deposited a sum of Mexican

dollars in that gentleman's palm and went on his way to Alameda, which

he entered shortly after dark, and where an insult, simmering in its

uncalled-for venom, met him as he limped across the floor of the local

dispensary on his way to the bar. There was no time for verbal

argument and precedent had established the manner of his reply, and

his repartee was as quick as light and most effective. Having resented

the epithets he gave his attention to the occupants of the room.



Smoke drifted over the table in an agitated cloud and dribbled

lazily upward from the muzzle of his six-shooter, while he looked

searchingly at those around him. Strained and eager faces peered at

his opponent, who was sliding slowly forward in his chair, and for the

length of a minute no sound but the guarded breathing of the onlookers

could be heard. This was broken by a nervous cough from the rear of

the room, and the faces assumed their ordinary nonchalant expressions,

their rugged lines heavily shadowed in the light of the flickering oil

lamps, while the shuffling of cards and the clink of silver became

audible. Hopalong Cassidy had objected to insulting remarks about his

affliction.



Hopalong was very sensitive about his crippled leg and was always

prompt to resent any scorn or curiosity directed at it, especially

when emanating from strangers. A young man of twenty-three years, when

surrounded by nearly perfect specimens of physical manhood, is apt to

be painfully self-conscious of any such defect, and it reacted on his

nature at times, even though he was well-known for his happy-go-lucky

disposition and playfulness. He consoled himself with the knowledge

that what he lost in symmetry was more than balanced by the celerity

and certainty of his gun hand, which was right or left, or both, as

the occasion demanded.



Several hours later, as his luck was vacillating, he felt a heavy

hand on his shoulder, and was overjoyed at seeing Buck and Red, the

latter grinning as only Red could grin, and he withdrew from the game

to enjoy his good fortune.



While Hopalong had been wandering over the country the two friends

had been hunting for him and had traced him successfully, that being

due to the trail he had blazed with his six-shooters. This they had

accomplished without harm to themselves, as those of whom they

inquired thought that they must want Hopalong "bad," and cheerfully

gave the information required.



They had started out more for the purpose of accompanying him for

pleasure, but that had changed to an urgent necessity in the following

manner:



While on the way from Denver to Santa Fe they had met Pete Willis of

the Three Triangle, a ranch that adjoined their own, and they paused

to pass the compliments of the season.



"Purty far from th' grub wagon, Pie," remarked Buck.



"Oh, I'm only goin' to Denver," responded Pie.



"Purty hot," suggested Red.



"She shore is. Seen anybody yu knows?" Pie asked.



"One or two-Billy of th' Star Crescent an' Panhandle Lukins,"

answered Buck.



"That so? Panhandle's goin' to punch for us next year. I'll hunt him

up. I heard down south of Albuquerque that Thirsty Jones an' his

brothers are lookin' for trouble," offered Pie.



"Yah! They ain't lookin' for no trouble-they just goes around

blowin' off. Trouble? Why, they don't know what she is," remarked Red

contemptuously.



"Well, they's been dodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' if

that ain't trouble I don't know what is," said Pie.



"It shore is, an' hard to dodge," acquiesced Buck.



"Well, I has to amble. Is Panhandle in Denver? Yes? I calculates as

how me an' him'll buck th' tiger for a whirl-he's shore lucky. Well,

so long," said Pie as he moved on.



"So long," responded the two.



"Hey, wait a minute," yelled Pie after he had ridden a hundred

yards. "If yu sees Hopalong yu might tell him that th' Joneses are

goin' to hunt him up when they gits to Albuquerque. They's shore sore

on him. `Tain't none of my funeral, only they ain't always a-carin'

how they goes after a feller. So long," and soon he was a cloud of

dust on the horizon.



"Trouble!" snorted Red; "well, between dodgin' Harris an' huntin'

Hopalong I reckons they'll shore find her. "Then to himself he

murmured, "Funny how everythin' comes his way."



"That's gospel shore enough, but, as Pie said, they ain't a whole

lot particular as how they deal th' cards. We better get a move on an'

find that ornery little cuss," replied Buck.



"O. K., only I ain't losin' no sleep about Hoppy. His gun's too

lively for me to do any worryin'," asserted Red.



"They'll get lynched some time, shore," declared Buck.



"Not if they find Hoppy," grimly replied Red.



They tore through Santa Fe, only stopping long enough to wet their

throats, and after several hours of hard riding entered Alameda, where

they found Hopalong in the manner narrated.



After some time the three left the room and headed for Albuquerque,

twelve miles to the south. At ten o'clock they dismounted before the

Nugget and Rope, an unpainted wooden building supposed to be a clever

combination of barroom, dance and gambling hall and hotel. The

cleverness lay in the man who could find the hotel part.