The Coming of Cassidy-And the Others

y set out for the Crazy M ranch, by the way of Clay Gulch. He was to report on the condition of some cattle that Buck had been offered cheap and he was anxio

ering in a veiled way at the low-hung, tied-down holsters that graced Bill's thighs. The guns proclaimed the gun-man as surely as it would have been proclaimed by a sign; and it appeared that gun-men were not at that time held in high esteem by the citizens of Clay Gulch. Bill was growing fretful and peevish when the man, with a knowing shake of his head, turned away and

Clay Gulch?" he asked, in to

t." Having complied with the requirements of common politeness the citizen of Clay Gulch turne

surprised had he known that Mr. Oleson, foreman of the Crazy M, had said nothing to anyone about the expected visitor, and that no one, not even on

the abstract; now they could talk in the concrete. One of them laughed and called softly over his shoulder, whereupon a third man appeared in the door, wiping his lips with the back of a hairy, grimy hand, and focused evil eyes upon the innocent stranger. He grunted contemptuously and, turning on his heel, went back to his liquid pleasures. Bill covertly felt of his clothes and st

vited. "Then I 'll eat, for I 'm hungry. An

ut his drink. As he raised the liquor he noticed Bill

b, the fire 's hout, hand the beds are taken. But m

n that said much and he slowly extended h

y I gets riled. I don't know what ails this town, an' I don't care; I don't give a cuss about yore grub an' your beds; but if you don't drink t

ns and back to the glass, and the liquor disappeared at a gulp. "W'y," he explained, aggrieve

me I drops in here for grub an' a bed, you have 'em both, an'

le and the sound came near being unfortunate for him. Bill leaped sideways, turning while in the air and landed on his feet like a cat, hi

en gamble on a shore thing. You 'll see me again," he promised. The sound of his steps on the porch ended in a thud as he leaped to the ground and then he passed the window leading his horse and

ace that made him cautious. Bill dropped his load on the floor and spoke sharply. "I want supper an'

Hawley in his Sunday voice. "That's what I 'm in bu

Bill pushed back from the table he was more at peace with the world and he treated, closely watching his companion. Mr. Haw

ed. "An' I ain't done much. You

Do you know where I 'm g

e he thought. "Well," he grinned, "if I could tell where strangers was goin', an' why, I would

ht be a good idea. But, say,

g; scenery, for another; wimmin, for another. Oh, h

thing th' mat

ell enough for to a

me, an' seem pained an' hurt? Do I look

right to me. Wh

a big surprise. There 'll mebby be a loud noise an' some smoke where it starts from; an' a li'l round hole where it stops. When th' curious delegation now holdin' forth on th' street slips in

opposite the bar. "Here she is, stranger," he said, stepping back. But Bill

is a li'l breeze. By th' Lord," he muttered under his breath. "This is some puzzle

rd. Bill turned around and looked after him in amazement. "Well, what th' devil!" he growled. Before he could do anything, had he wished to, Mr. Oleson stepped quickly from the house, nodded

is, Marshal of Clay Gulch, is stumped, too. He can't move without proof; you can. Th' first man to get is George Thomas, then his brother Art. By that time you 'll know how things lay. George Thomas is keepin' out of Harris' way. He killed a man last week over in Tuxedo an' Harris wants to take

th' wrong man. I come up here to look over a herd for Buck Peters; an' here you go shovin' wages like that at me.

ce shut. An' lemme observe in yore hat-like ear that if th' rest of this gang is like th' samples I seen in town, a good

n with a grim smile. "You don't know them fellers," he r

ook at them cows. I want t

t a better offer I let 'em go. I 'm sorry you had th

ouse and mounted his horse. "All right," he no

d Oleson. "Mebby he ain't comin'

l, Shorty mounted and swung out of the other gate of the corral and rode along the bottom of an arroyo until he felt it was safe to follow Bill's trail. When Shorty turned back he was almost to town,

ch till t'morrow mornin'; an' at the Victoria," he grinned. Then he laugh

There was no one in sight, and he smiled. Putting the saddle and rifle back in one corner under the bar and covering them with gunny sacks he strolled to the Victoria and entered through the rear door. The proprietor reached for his

, sitting down by the side of a small table in such a manner that it did not in the least interfere with the movement of his right hand. The observing proprietor observed and gave strict atte

ing to a chair that stood close to the rifle that leaned against the wall. "Loaded?" he demanded. T

d for the weapon a sudden flash of understanding illumined him and caused cold sweat to b

awe steal through his fear, for here was a gun-man such as he had read about. This man gave him all the best of it just to tempt him to make a break. The rifle had

t itched so as to make him squirm and wear horrible expressions. Bill, chancing to glance up carelessly, caught sight of the expres

He followed, holding his sides, and stopped before the room. "This th' best?" he demanded. "Well, it ain't good enough for me. About, face! Forward, march!

e he poured out a generous drink and gulped it down. Peering out of the door to see if the

had propped a chair against the door as a warning signal, and stretching out flat on his back, he prepared to enjoy solid comfort. It was not yet dark, and as he was not sleepy he lay there thinking over the events of the past twenty-four hours, often laughing so hard as to shake the bed. What a reputation he would have in the morning! The softness of the bed got in its work and he

proprietor, hurriedly. "'E says the bloody room was n't good enough fo

range voice. "You 've gone a

uld n't 'ave it. D'y think I wants 'im running haround this blooming town? 'E 's worse

grunted the other. "Wish

rted the proprietor. "It never looked

under cover I 'll blow his head off. Come on; we 'll get Harris first. He ought to be gettin' close

ter take th' other end of town-there 's no tellin' how he 'll come in now,

to their stations and did not hear the choking gasp that the proprietor made as a pair of strong hands reached out and throttled him. When he came to he was lying face down on a bed, gagged

the wall of a building an armed man, weary and slow from a tiresome vigil. Another emerged from behind a pile of boards that faced the marshal's abode, while down the street another crept over the edge of a dried-out water course and swore softly as he stood up slowly to flex away the stiffness of cramped limbs. Of vain speculation he was empty; h

ern sky. Mr. Hawley was one of those who go to bed with regret and get up with remorse, and his temper was always easily disturbed before breakfast. The skulker, safe from the remorseful gentleman's eyes, and gun, kept close to the building as he walked and was again fortunate, for he had passed when Mr. Hawley strode heavily

ity knows and holds in an awe far above the metal or design. Swinging low on his hip gleamed the ivory butt of a silver-plated Colt, the one weakness that his vanity seized upon. But under the silver and its engraving, above and before the cracked and stained ivory handles, lay the power of a great force; and under the casing of the marshal's small body lay a virile manhood, strong in courage and determination. Toby Harris watched, smilingly; he loved the dramatic and fo

ashed a fraction of a second before the brothers fired. George Thomas reeled, caught sight of the puncher and fired by instinct. Bill, leaving Harris to watch the other side of the street, was watching the rear corner of the Victoria and was unprepared for the shot. He crumpled and dropped and then the marshal, enraged, ended the rustler's earthly career in a stream of flame and smoke. Tom, turning into the street further down, wheeled and dashed for his horse, and Art, having leaped behind the harness shop, turned and fled for his life. He had nearly reached his horse and was going at top

b smashed. I reckon I 'll hop along through life. It 'll be hop along, for me, all right. That's my n

of those who knew him at the time. And from this on, up to the time he died, and after, we will forsake "Bill" and speak of him as Hopalong Cassidy, a cowpuncher who lived and worked in