the Rustlers Of West Fork (1951) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Louis - Hopalong 03 L'amour
him in now, and Hopalong sur- 23 mised in them a cool curiosity and some calculation. "You handle them guns right good," the man said. "You from around here?" "Driftin'," Hopalong said. "Figured I'd see some o' the country west.
Over toward the Mogollons."
The man's face stiffened, but he said carefully, "Good country to get shet of, an' you can take that friendly. I know this country. Been ranchin' over near McClellan for the past couple o' years. Just gettin' back from Colorado with my wife an' boy. But you stay away from those Mogollons unless you-" His voice broke off sharply, and he touched his lips with a nervous tongue. "Unless what?"
Cassidy was walking his horse alongside the man as they started for the wagon.
"Nothin"dis" The man avoided his eyes. "But thanks again. You probably kept us alive back yonder. Won't ferget it, neither." He looked up. "My name's Leeds. My brand's the Circle L, six mile out of McClellan. Look me up." Hopalong was intrigued by the man's comments on the Mogollons. "Headin' for Clifton's. Might's well tag along, I guess. That's my spot for tonight." "Good grub,"
Leeds said, committing himself to nothing. Asking questions was the worst way to get information in this country, as Cassidy well knew. He was reticent himself, but most Westerners were inclined to be even more so.
Especially in some neighborhoods where it paid to know nothing and say nothing. Yet in hopes of breaking down the man's resistance and of leading him into some admission or comment, Hopalong talked from time to time on cattle, range conditions, the nutritive value of grama grass, and the probable chance of water from deep wells.
It was the boy who finally interrupted him. "You got a fine horse there," the boy said, "mighty fine! He shore don't size up like no mustang to me."
"He's not," Cassidy explained. "Hombre north of here has him a horse ranch. Good friend of mine. He gave me this horse for a favor I once done him. Topper is a cross between an Arab mare an' a big Irish stallion this friend of mine owns. He'll walk faster'n most horses trot."
"I'd like to get me a horse like that!" The boy wat all admiration. "I seen him comin' down the hill, runnin' like the wind!" He looked up at Hoppy. "My name's Billy. What's yourn?"
At the question, Hopalong saw the driver turn his head slightly. His interest was obvious, although he knew the West well enough to ask no questions. "My name," Hopalong replied genially, "is Tuck:
Most folks call me Ben."
They talked quietly until the wagon drew up before Clifton House. Hopalong lad already taken in the situation. Four saddled horses stood at the hitch rail, and this was obviously a busy place. A wagon stood nearby with mules hitched to it, and several men loafed about. Their eyes went from Leeds to Cassidy and back again.
One of the men, a rawboned fellow in a torn shirt and dirty gray sombrero, walked over to speak to Leeds as the mule skinner swung down.
The fellow had buck teeth and a tied-down gun.
A Mexican stable hand walked toward Cassidy. "Got any corn?" Hopalong inquired. "Give him a bait of it if you have.
I'll be movin' on tomorrow." "Si, senor" The Mexican also noticed the tied-down guns and the rifle, which Hopalong took from the scabbard.
Leeds and the man with buck teeth were watching him; and Cassidy ignored them as he went by and entered the long, lowraftered room of Clifton House.
Two men stood at the bar and several were gathered about a table playing draw. Hopalong eyed the group with interest. Draw poker was his game, and this looked like a chance to sit in.
"See any Injuns?" The speaker was a big, dark-faced man who needed a shave. "Uh-huh."
Hopalong jerked his head toward the door. "Leeds an' me had a brush with "em. Mebbe six or eight. Don't know for sure."
"Git any?"
"Four, mebbe five."
Leeds had come in with his companion.
"That was good shootin", Leeds," the big man said. "Didn't know you was that good."
"I ain't. Tuck got three of
Over toward the Mogollons."
The man's face stiffened, but he said carefully, "Good country to get shet of, an' you can take that friendly. I know this country. Been ranchin' over near McClellan for the past couple o' years. Just gettin' back from Colorado with my wife an' boy. But you stay away from those Mogollons unless you-" His voice broke off sharply, and he touched his lips with a nervous tongue. "Unless what?"
Cassidy was walking his horse alongside the man as they started for the wagon.
"Nothin"dis" The man avoided his eyes. "But thanks again. You probably kept us alive back yonder. Won't ferget it, neither." He looked up. "My name's Leeds. My brand's the Circle L, six mile out of McClellan. Look me up." Hopalong was intrigued by the man's comments on the Mogollons. "Headin' for Clifton's. Might's well tag along, I guess. That's my spot for tonight." "Good grub,"
Leeds said, committing himself to nothing. Asking questions was the worst way to get information in this country, as Cassidy well knew. He was reticent himself, but most Westerners were inclined to be even more so.
Especially in some neighborhoods where it paid to know nothing and say nothing. Yet in hopes of breaking down the man's resistance and of leading him into some admission or comment, Hopalong talked from time to time on cattle, range conditions, the nutritive value of grama grass, and the probable chance of water from deep wells.
It was the boy who finally interrupted him. "You got a fine horse there," the boy said, "mighty fine! He shore don't size up like no mustang to me."
"He's not," Cassidy explained. "Hombre north of here has him a horse ranch. Good friend of mine. He gave me this horse for a favor I once done him. Topper is a cross between an Arab mare an' a big Irish stallion this friend of mine owns. He'll walk faster'n most horses trot."
"I'd like to get me a horse like that!" The boy wat all admiration. "I seen him comin' down the hill, runnin' like the wind!" He looked up at Hoppy. "My name's Billy. What's yourn?"
At the question, Hopalong saw the driver turn his head slightly. His interest was obvious, although he knew the West well enough to ask no questions. "My name," Hopalong replied genially, "is Tuck:
Most folks call me Ben."
They talked quietly until the wagon drew up before Clifton House. Hopalong lad already taken in the situation. Four saddled horses stood at the hitch rail, and this was obviously a busy place. A wagon stood nearby with mules hitched to it, and several men loafed about. Their eyes went from Leeds to Cassidy and back again.
One of the men, a rawboned fellow in a torn shirt and dirty gray sombrero, walked over to speak to Leeds as the mule skinner swung down.
The fellow had buck teeth and a tied-down gun.
A Mexican stable hand walked toward Cassidy. "Got any corn?" Hopalong inquired. "Give him a bait of it if you have.
I'll be movin' on tomorrow." "Si, senor" The Mexican also noticed the tied-down guns and the rifle, which Hopalong took from the scabbard.
Leeds and the man with buck teeth were watching him; and Cassidy ignored them as he went by and entered the long, lowraftered room of Clifton House.
Two men stood at the bar and several were gathered about a table playing draw. Hopalong eyed the group with interest. Draw poker was his game, and this looked like a chance to sit in.
"See any Injuns?" The speaker was a big, dark-faced man who needed a shave. "Uh-huh."
Hopalong jerked his head toward the door. "Leeds an' me had a brush with "em. Mebbe six or eight. Don't know for sure."
"Git any?"
"Four, mebbe five."
Leeds had come in with his companion.
"That was good shootin", Leeds," the big man said. "Didn't know you was that good."
"I ain't. Tuck got three of
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