Hopalong Cassidy Sees Red

she wanted me to.'

Hopalong snorted. 'That so?' he demanded, pugnaciously. 'Reckon she might like to know what yo're doin' down here, how much longer you aim to stay, an' if yo're still alive—an' other little foolish things like that. Let me tell you, Kid, you don't know how big a woman fills up yore life till you've lost her.'

'I can imagine what it would be without her,' said Johnny, slowly and reverently, his heart aching for his friend's loss. 'She knows all about it; nearly all, anyhow. I've writ to her every third day, when I could, an' sometimes oftener. She may be worryin', but I'm bettin' every cent I'll ever have that she ain't doin' no cryin'! There ain't many wimmen like her, even in this kind of country.'

'Then she's shore got Red an' me figgered for a fine pair of liars,' murmured Hopalong; 'but just th' same I'm feelin' warmer toward you than I have for a week,' he announced. 'When did you tell her all about this scrambled mess?'

'When I found that I couldn't tell how much longer I'd have to stay here,' confessed Johnny. 'I couldn't write letters an' lie good enough to fool her; an' I had to write letters, didn't I?'

'I'll take everythin' back, Kid,' said his companion, grinning in the dark.

Johnny grunted and the silence began again, a silence which endured for several hours, such a silence that can exist between two real friends and be full of understanding. It endured between them and was not even broken by the distant, dim flare of a match, nor when low sounds floated up to them and gradually grew into the clicking and rattle of horns against horns, and the low rumble of many hurrying hoofs—hoofs hurrying toward the water which bovine nostrils had long since scented. The rumble grew rapidly as the thirst-tortured herd stampeded for Bitter Spring. A revolver flashed here and there on the edges of the animated avalanche and then a sweet silence came to the desert, soon to be tunefully and pleasantly broken by the soft lowing of cattle leg deep in the saving water.

Let th' air blow in up-on m-e-e,

Let me see th' mid-night s-k-y;

Stand back, Sisters, from a-round m-e-e:

God, it is s-o-o h-a-r-d to d-i-e,

wailed a cracked voice, the owner relieving his feelings. 'Thorpe, if you don't wrastle a hot snack mighty quick, I'll eat yore ears!'

'Give him anythin' to stop that yowlin',' bellowed another. 'Can't he learn nothin' but 'Th' Dyin' Nun'? Thank heaven he never learned no more of it. A sick calf ain't no cheerfuller than him.'

'You'll have to eat lively, boys,' sang out the trail-boss. 'Everythin' is on th' move in an hour. If yo're in such a cussed hurry, Jud, get some wood for him. Take it from that lame pack horse. Reckon we'll have to shoot him if he don't get better in a hurry.'

Up to my knees in mud I go

An' water to my middle;

Whenever firewood's to be got

I'm Cookie's sec-ond fid-dle,

chanted Jud, splashing out to where the lame pack horse conducted an experiment in saturation. 'Hot, cussed hot,' he enlightened the cheerful, but tired group on the bank. 'Hot

an'

oozy. Hello, hoss,' he greeted, slapping the shrinking shoulder. 'You heard what th' boss said about you? Pick up, Ol' Timer; pick up or you'll get shot. What? Don't blame you a bit, not a cussed bit.

I

'd ruther be shot, too, than tote wood over this part of hades. Oh, well; life's plumb funny. You'll fry if you do, an' you'll die if you don't. What's th' difference, anyhow, Ol' Timer?'

'Hey, Jud,' called a voice. 'Got a new bunkie?'

'I could have worse than a cayuse,' replied Jud. 'A cussed sight worse.'

'There's mocassins, rattlers, copperheads, tarantulas, an' scorpions in that pond!' warned another.

'You done forgot Gila monsters, tigers an'—an'—Injuns,' retorted Jud. 'Now comes a job. With both arms full of slippin', criss-crossin' firewood, th' rest slidin' from th' pack, I got to hang on to what I got, put th' rest back like it ought to go an' make everythin' tight. Come out here, some blame fool, an' gimme a hand. Better move lively— only got four arms an' six hands. There!' he exploded. 'There goes th' shootin'-match off th' hoss. Th' wind'll blow 'em ashore an' we can pick up th' whole caboodle.'

'Wind?' jeered the snake-enumerator. 'Where's th' wind? Yo're a fool!'

'On th' bank, where yo're settin', you thick-headed ass!' yelled Jud. 'You got so cussed much to say, suppose you muddy yore lily-white pants an' do somethin' besides bray!'

'Did you spill any of 'em, Jud?' anxiously asked a voice. 'I heard a splash.'

Jud's reply was such that the trail-boss snapped a warning which checked some of the conversation, and promised his help. 'Wait for me, Jud; I'm comin',' he said.

'Why don't you send that white-washed idol?' asked Jud. 'I'll show him who's th' fool; an' what a splash sounds like!'

Hopalong nudged his companion and they crept forward, feeling before them for anything which might make a sound if stepped on. A vibrant whir! made them spring back and go around the warning snake, and soon they reached the little, sandy ridge which had sheltered Hopalong on his other visit.

'I'm glad you hung on to what you had, Jud,' came Thorpe's thankful voice as his match caught the sunbaked wood and sent a tiny flame licking upward among the shavings whittled by his knife. 'What you do you allus do right. It's dry as a bone.'

'An' so am I,' grunted the horse wrangler. 'Who's got their canteen?'

'He's askin' for a canteen, with th' whole pond in front of him!' laughed a squatting rustler. 'Here; take mine.'

The fire grew quickly and a coffeepot, staunch friend of weary travelers, was placed in the flame, no one caring what it looked like or how hot the handle got. Time passed swiftly in talking of the raid and in consuming the light, hurried meal and soon the wrangler argued to his charges from the bank, and then waded in for his own horse, after which the matter was much simplified. He had them bunched, the next change of horses had been cut out by the men and they were ready to resume the drive when a distant voice hailed them. Soon a lathered horse glistened in the outer circle of light, and the hard-riding courier dashed up to the fire.

'They've hit th' town, boys!' he shouted. 'Th' Question-Mark an' th' Diamond L have joined hands agin' us. Their friends in town are backin' 'em. Kane says to drive this herd hell-to-leather to th' valley, leave it there an' burn th' trail back. Where's Hugh Roberts?'

'Here,' answered the trail-boss, stepping forward. 'Hello, Vic.'

'Got strict orders from th' boss,' said Vic, leaning over and whispering in the ear of the trail-boss.

Roberts stiffened and swore angrily. 'Is that all he says for us to do?' he sneered. 'I got a notion to tell him to go to hades!'

Eager questions assailed him from the pressing group and he pushed himself free. 'He says we are to take Quayle's hotel, their headquarters, from th' rear at dawn of th' day we get back—an' hold it! That's all!'

An angry chorus greeted the announcement and the shouting courier had a hard time to make himself heard, 'That's wins for us!' he yelled. 'You get their leaders, you split 'em in two—an' Kane'll turn his boys loose to hit 'em during th' confusion. He's got a wise head, I'm shoutin'. Red Frank's gang smashes from th' west end, an' they'll never know what happened. We'll have 'em split three ways, leaderless, not knowin' what's happened. It'll be a