Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up by Clarence Edward Mulford
page 105 of 255 (41%)
page 105 of 255 (41%)
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and the sun of the free-and-easy cowboy would slowly set.
"I reckons th' cutters are classed th' same as rustlers," remarked Red with a gleam of temper. "By th' owners, but not by th' punchers; an' it's th' punchers that count," replied Frenchy. "Well, we'll give them a fight," interposed Hopalong, riding up. "When it gets so I can't go where I please I'll start on th' warpath. I won't buck the cavalry, but I'll keep it busy huntin' for me an' I'll have time to `tend to th' wire-fence men, too. Why, we'll be told we can't tote our guns!" "They're sayin' that now," replied Frenchy. "Up in Buffalo, Smith, who's now marshal, makes yu leave `em with th' bartenders." "I'd like to see any two-laigged cuss get my guns If I didn't want him to!" began Hopalong, indignant at the idea. "Easy, son," cautioned Buck. "Yu would do what th' rest did because yu are a square man. I'm about as hard-headed a puncher as ever straddled leather an' I've had to use my guns purty considerable, but I reckons if any decent marshal asked me to cache them in a decent way, why, I'd do it. An' let me brand somethin' on yore mind-I've heard of Smith of Buffalo, an' he's mighty nifty with his hands. He don't stand off an' tell yu to unload yore lead-ranch, but he ambles up close an' taps yu on yore shirt; if yu makes a gunplay he naturally knocks yu clean across th' room an' unloads yu afore yu gets yore senses back. He weighs about a hundred an' eighty an' he's shore got |
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