Read Online the Trail to Seven Pines (1972) by Louis - Hopalong 02 L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis - Hopalong 02 L'amour
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you that one of your boys is hurt. It'll be in some place where they can lay concealed, and I have an idea, from what was said, it will be over west in the Rosebud Canyon.
They'll have seven or eight men all ready to mow you down. They are scared you'll end rustlin' in this country."
"Thanks, Carp." Hopalong hesitated. "What about you?" Carp chuckled dryly. "Me? I'm splittin' the breeze out of here. I don't mind admittin' I've done a bit of rustlin' myself, but when I heard you was in the country I knew the game was up. I'm headin' for Montana come daybreak."
A tight-riding bunch of horsemen were coming up the street when Hopalong Cassidy reached it, and he faded back against the building for a better look. Standing there in the shadow, he saw five men in the group, and one of the riders was Hank Boucher.
Another was Windy Gore.
There was a slight movement across the street, and Hopalong stared hard, straining his eyes to make out the man who was moving among the shadows. Then he saw-it was Shorty Montana.
The puncher was moving after the Gores and following them into the High-Grade Saloon.
Hopalong hesitated, then crossed the street and circled for the rear of the saloon.
The High-Grade was more than a saloon, for it was also the town's principal hotel.
A two-story frame structure, it housed the bar with its gaming tables, and at the back of the room a stairway led to a narrow balcony. Along the balcony were curtained booths, but in the rear were the hotel rooms, some thirty of them, all small and each one equipped with a wooden bed. There was also a rear stairway to the second floor and a rear door to the first floor.
Cassidy went up the rear stairway to the second floor and tiptoed along the hall to the balcony. Without attracting attention he managed to get into the first booth.
There he drew the curtain, leaving it open just enough to enable him to watch the room without being seen.
The Gore outfit was already in the saloon and lined up along the bar. Windy, tall and slack-jawed, Cassidy recognized at once. John he soon picked out by hearing him named, a burly man with thick shoulders and chest who wore a huge reddish mustache and had small, cruel eyes. Con was just as big, but he had none of the bulkiness that his brother showed. He was square-shouldered and muscular, his face clean-shaven and brutally boned. All three men looked tough and all three wore two guns each.
Aside from Hank Boucher, his face bruised and swollen, Cassidy recognized none of them. Shorty Montana had come in and was now walking slowly past them. As he drew abreast of Boucher, he deliberately stopped and eyed his bruised face. Boucher turned, anger mounting within him.
"What's eatin' you?" he demanded.
"Nothin'." Montana had his thumbs tucked behind his belt, and he was elaborately serious. "Just sort of wonderin'."
"About what?" Boucher demanded suspiciously.
Shorty smiled innocently. "I was wonderin' what sort of animal could step on a man's face to make it look so messed up. Now if you were dragged by a horse, it would be more skinned and scratched-like."
"Shut up!" Boucher growled furiously. "Ain't none of your business!"
"That's sure the truth," Montana agreed pleasantly. "It's none of my business. On the other hand, can't a man express a friendly sort of interest? Can't blame a body for being' curious, can you? I knew an hombre down to Tombstone who got him a face like that, but he was kicked by a mule.
"Now that there eye," Shorty continued, "it's cut pretty deep. That might've been kicked by a mule, all right. And your mouth there, lips all puffed and swollen-don't reckon that could be-"
"Shut up!" Boucher turned on Montana. "Shut up or I'll do it for you!"
Shorty Montana backed off two steps in mock fear. "Hey! What's the matter? I ain't huntin' trouble, Boucher! Just sort of wonderin' what happened."
"You've wondered enough!" Pony Harper spoke abruptly from the end of the bar. "We want no trouble in here, Montana. I
They'll have seven or eight men all ready to mow you down. They are scared you'll end rustlin' in this country."
"Thanks, Carp." Hopalong hesitated. "What about you?" Carp chuckled dryly. "Me? I'm splittin' the breeze out of here. I don't mind admittin' I've done a bit of rustlin' myself, but when I heard you was in the country I knew the game was up. I'm headin' for Montana come daybreak."
A tight-riding bunch of horsemen were coming up the street when Hopalong Cassidy reached it, and he faded back against the building for a better look. Standing there in the shadow, he saw five men in the group, and one of the riders was Hank Boucher.
Another was Windy Gore.
There was a slight movement across the street, and Hopalong stared hard, straining his eyes to make out the man who was moving among the shadows. Then he saw-it was Shorty Montana.
The puncher was moving after the Gores and following them into the High-Grade Saloon.
Hopalong hesitated, then crossed the street and circled for the rear of the saloon.
The High-Grade was more than a saloon, for it was also the town's principal hotel.
A two-story frame structure, it housed the bar with its gaming tables, and at the back of the room a stairway led to a narrow balcony. Along the balcony were curtained booths, but in the rear were the hotel rooms, some thirty of them, all small and each one equipped with a wooden bed. There was also a rear stairway to the second floor and a rear door to the first floor.
Cassidy went up the rear stairway to the second floor and tiptoed along the hall to the balcony. Without attracting attention he managed to get into the first booth.
There he drew the curtain, leaving it open just enough to enable him to watch the room without being seen.
The Gore outfit was already in the saloon and lined up along the bar. Windy, tall and slack-jawed, Cassidy recognized at once. John he soon picked out by hearing him named, a burly man with thick shoulders and chest who wore a huge reddish mustache and had small, cruel eyes. Con was just as big, but he had none of the bulkiness that his brother showed. He was square-shouldered and muscular, his face clean-shaven and brutally boned. All three men looked tough and all three wore two guns each.
Aside from Hank Boucher, his face bruised and swollen, Cassidy recognized none of them. Shorty Montana had come in and was now walking slowly past them. As he drew abreast of Boucher, he deliberately stopped and eyed his bruised face. Boucher turned, anger mounting within him.
"What's eatin' you?" he demanded.
"Nothin'." Montana had his thumbs tucked behind his belt, and he was elaborately serious. "Just sort of wonderin'."
"About what?" Boucher demanded suspiciously.
Shorty smiled innocently. "I was wonderin' what sort of animal could step on a man's face to make it look so messed up. Now if you were dragged by a horse, it would be more skinned and scratched-like."
"Shut up!" Boucher growled furiously. "Ain't none of your business!"
"That's sure the truth," Montana agreed pleasantly. "It's none of my business. On the other hand, can't a man express a friendly sort of interest? Can't blame a body for being' curious, can you? I knew an hombre down to Tombstone who got him a face like that, but he was kicked by a mule.
"Now that there eye," Shorty continued, "it's cut pretty deep. That might've been kicked by a mule, all right. And your mouth there, lips all puffed and swollen-don't reckon that could be-"
"Shut up!" Boucher turned on Montana. "Shut up or I'll do it for you!"
Shorty Montana backed off two steps in mock fear. "Hey! What's the matter? I ain't huntin' trouble, Boucher! Just sort of wonderin' what happened."
"You've wondered enough!" Pony Harper spoke abruptly from the end of the bar. "We want no trouble in here, Montana. I
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