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Updated: June 13, 2025
"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.
"Why, you couldn't even hit the bottom of the Grand Canyon if you leaned over the edge." "You could, if you leaned too far, you red-headed wart of a half-breed," snapped Hopalong. "But how about the Joneses, Tarantula Charley, Slim Travennes, an' all the rest? How about them, hey?" "Huh! You couldn't 'a' got any of 'em if they had been sober," and Mr.
"Them's his pardners," he said, indicating the pair on the table. Hopalong turned his head and gravely scrutinized them. Porous was bemoaning the death of Slim Travennes and Hopalong frowned. "Don't reckon he's no relation of mine," he grunted. "Well, he ain't yore sister," replied Tom Lee, grinning. "What's his brand?" Asked the puncher.
Connors, behind the shack, was hidden to the view of those on the street, and when two men ran up at a signal from Mr. Travennes, intending to insert themselves in the misunderstanding, they were promptly lined up with the first two by the man on the rock. "Sit down," invited Mr. Connors, pushing a chunk of air out of the way with his guns.
Travennes acted as though he would like to scratch his thigh where his Colt's chafed him, but postponed the event and listened to Mr. Cassidy, who was asking questions. "Where's our cayuses, General?" Mr. Travennes replied that he didn't know. He was worried, for he feared that his captor didn't have a secure hold on the hammer of the ubiquitous Colt's. "Where's my cayuse?" Persisted Mr. Cassidy.
"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.
"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.
Travennes looked down the street again, saw number five added to the line-up, and coughed up chunks of broken profanity, grieving his host by his lack of courtesy. "Time," announced Mr. Cassidy, interrupting the round. "I wants them cayuses an' I wants 'em right now. Yu an' me will amble off an' get 'em. I won't bore yu with tellin' yu what'll happen if yu gets skittish.
For months he had smothered hot hatred and he was now on his way to ease himself of it. He and Slim Travennes had once exchanged shots with Hopalong in Santa Fe, and the month which he had spent in bed was not pleasing, and from that encounter had sprung the hatred. That he had been in the wrong made no difference with him.
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