Bring Me His Ears

E. Mulford Clarence

Description

Bring Me His Ears, a novel that's part of Clarence E. Mulford's beloved Hopalong Cassidy series, is a fast-paced Western in the classic vein of the genre. It sucks readers in right from the start and doesn't let up its pace until the very last page.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776592432
• Langue: English

Extrait

BRING ME HIS EARS
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CLARENCE E. MULFORD
 
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Bring Me His Ears First published in 1922 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-243-2 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-244-9 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - Hawkens' Gun Store Chapter II - Aboard the Missouri Belle Chapter III - Armijo's Strong Arm Chapter IV - Tom Changes His Plans Chapter V - The Insult Chapter VI - Indians and Gamblers Chapter VII - The Wrecking of the Missouri Belle Chapter VIII - The New Six-Gun Chapter IX - The Caravan Chapter X - En Route Chapter XI - Indian Country Chapter XII - Pawnees Chapter XIII - Hurrah for Texas Chapter XIV - The Valley of the Cimarron Chapter XV - Texan Scouts Chapter XVI - The Passing of Pedro Chapter XVII - "'Spress from Bent's" Chapter XVIII - Santa Fe Chapter XIX - The Rendezvous Chapter XX - Tom Reneges Chapter XXI - The Kidnapping Chapter XXII - "Los Tejanos!"
Chapter I - Hawkens' Gun Store
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The tall, lanky Missourian leaning against the corner of a ramshacklesaloon on Locust Street, St. Louis, Missouri—the St. Louis of the earlyforties—turned his whiskey-marked face toward his companion, a shortand slender Mexican trader, sullenly listening to the latter's torrentof words, which was accompanied by many and excitable gesticulations.The Missourian shook his head in reply to the accusations of hiscompanion.
"But he was on thee boat weeth us!" exclaimed the other. "An' you loseheem—lak theese!" the sharp snap of his fingers denoted magic.
"Thar ain't no use o' gittin' riled," replied Schoolcraft. "How intarnation kin a man keep th' trail o' a slippery critter like him inthese yere crowds? I'll git sight o' him, right yere."
"That ees w'at you say," rejoined the Mexican, shrugging his shoulders."But w'at weel I say to le Gobernador ? Theese hombre TomazBoyd—he know vera many t'eengs—too vera many t'eengs—an' he ensult le Gobernador . Madre de Dios —sooch ensult!" He shivered at thethought. "W'en I get thee message, I tr-remble! It say 'Br-ring heem tome—or breeng me his ears!' I am tol' to go to Señor Schoolcr-raft atEendependence—he ees thee man. I go; an' then you lose heem! Bah! Youdo not know theese Manuel Armijo, le Gobernador de Santa Fe , myfren'—I tr-remble!"
"You need a good swig, that's what you need," growled Schoolcraft."An' if ye warn't a chuckle-head," he said with a flash of anger, "wewouldn't 'a' come yere at all; I told ye he's got th' prairie fever an'shore would come back to Independence, whar I got friends; but no—wehad ter foller him!" He spat emphatically. "Thar warn't no sense to it,nohow!"
The other waved his arms. "But w'y we stan' here, lak theese? W'y you dono'teeng?"
"Now you look a-here, Pedro," growled the Missourian, his sullen gazepassing up and down the slender Mexican. "Ye don't want ter use no spurson this critter. I ain't no greaser! If ye'll hold them arms still fera minute I'll tell ye somethin'. Thar's three ways o' gittin' a deer:one is trailin'—which we've found ain't no good; another is layin' lownear a runway—which is yer job; th' third is watchin' th' saltlick—which is my job. You go down ter th' levee, git cached amongthem piles o' freight an' keep a lookout on th' landin' stage o' th' Belle . I'll stick right yere on this corner an' watch th' lick, whichis Hawkens' gun store. He lost his pistol overboard, comin' down th'river, didn't he? An' th' Belle ain't sailin' till arter ten o'clock,is she? One o' us is bound ter git sight o' him, fer he'll shore go backby th' river; an' if thar's any place in this town whar a plainsman'llgo, it's that gun store, down th' street. You do what I say, or you an'Armijo kin go plumb ter hell! An' don't ye wave yer fists under my noseno more, Pedro; I might misunderstand ye."
The Mexican's face brightened. "Eet ees good, vera good, SeñorSchoolcraft. Hah! You have thee br-rains, my fren'. Armijo, he say:'Pedro, get heem to Santa Fe, if you can. If you can't, then keel heem,an' breeng me hees ears.' Bueno! I go, señor. I go pronto . Buenadia! "
"Then git," growled Schoolcraft. "Thar's that long-faced clerk o'Hawkens' openin' th' shop. Now remember: this side o' th' junction o'th' Oregon trail I'm only ter watch him. If he goes southwest from th'junction, yer job begins; if he heads up fer th' Platte, my job starts.I ain't got no love fer him, but I'm hopin' he heads fer Oregon an' getskilled quick! I hate ter think o' a white man in Armijo's paws. An' ifhe hangs 'round th' settlements, we toss up fer th' job. If that'sright, vamoose ."
"Eet ees r-right to thee vera letter," whispered the Mexican, rubbinghis hands. "Eef only I can get heem to Santa Fe—ah, my fren'!"
"Yer wuss nor a weasel," grunted the Missourian, slight prickles playingup and down his spine. "Better git down to them freight piles!"
Schoolcraft watched his scurrying friend until he slipped around acorner and was lost to sight; then he turned and looked up the street atthe gun shop of Jake and Samuel Hawken, whose weapons were renowned allover that far-stretching western wilderness. Shrugging his shoulders, heglanced in disgust at the heavy, patented repeating rifle in his handand, letting his personal affairs take precedence over those of thedistant Mexican tyrant, he swung down the street, crossed it, andentered the famous gun shop. He risked nothing by the move, for thestore was the Mecca of frontiersmen, and a trip to St. Louis was hardlycomplete without a visit to the shop.
The Hawkens were established, so much so that they were to be singledout by one of the famous Colt family with a partnership proposition. Thefame of their rifles had rolled westward to the Rockies and beyond. Theywere to be found across the Canadian and Mexican boundaries and whereverhunters and trappers congregated, who scorned the Northwest fusil as fitonly for trading purposes, laughed in their sleeves at the preposterouslength and general inefficiency of the Hudson Bay muskets, andcontentedly patted the stocks of their Hawkens'. There is a traditionthat the length of the Hudson Bay muskets, which often rose over thehead of a tall man while the butt rested on the ground, was due to thefact that the ignorant Indians could obtain a white man's gun only bystacking up beaver skins until the pile was as high as the musket. Evenworse than the flintlock trade guns were the escopetas of the south,matchlocks of prodigious bore and no accuracy or power, which were usedby many of the Mexicans. That swarthy-skinned race which suffered underthe tyranny of Armijo seemed to believe that anything which used powderwas a weapon. The rank and file of the Mexicans were courageous andusually fought bravely until deserted by their officers, or until theywere fully convinced that the miscellaneous junk with which they werearmed was worse than useless. It can hardly be expected that menshooting pebbles, nails, and what-not out of nearly uselessblunderbusses; or using bows, arrows, and lances will stand up very longagainst straight-shooting troops armed with the best rifles; add to thisthe great difference in morale, and the ever-present distrust of theofficers, and a fair and honest understanding may be arrived at.
Hawkens' clerk took down one of the great rifles to go over it with anoiled rag, which was another example of painting the lily. The weaponwas stocked to the muzzle and shot a bullet weighing thirty-two to thepound, each thus being an honest half-ounce of lead. It was brassmounted and had a poorly done engraving of a buffalo on the trap in itsstock. He turned to replace it and take down another when the sound ofthe opening door made him pause and face the incoming customer.
The newcomer was neither hunter nor trapper, gambler nor merchant, tojudge from his nondescript and mixed attire. His left hand had an uglywelt running across the base of the palm and it had not been healed longenough to have lost its distinctive color. In his right hand he carrieda rifle which was new to that part of the country, and he slid it ontothe counter.
"Swap ye," he gruffly said, stepping back and leering at the clerk. "Tooak'ard fer me. Can't git used ter it, nohow. I like a stock with a bigdrop—this un makes me hump my head down like a bull buffaler. That'sth' wuss o' havin' a long neck."
The clerk glanced at the repeating Colt and then at the injured hand.The faintest possible suggestion of a knowing smile flitted across hisface, and he shook his head.
"Those are too dangerous," he replied. "We don't handle them."
"W'y, that's a fine rifle!" growled the customer, a heavy frownsettling on his coarse face. "Six shots, with them newfangled caps,without re-loadin'. She's a plumb fine weapon!"
"Looks good," laughed the clerk; "but we don't care to handle them."
"They've sorta put yer nose outer j'int, ain't they?" sneered thecustomer. "Wall, ye kin bet yer peltries I wouldn't be givin' ye th'chanct to handle this un," he angrily declared, "if it had a biggerdrop an' warn't so ak'ard fer a man like me. Ye can't find a rifle inyer danged store as kin hold a candle ter it. I bet ye ain't never seenone afore!"
"It's our business to keep informed," responded the clerk, stillsmiling. "We heard all about that rifle as soon as it was patented."
"But ye allus could sell a gun like this un," persisted the scowlingowner. "Ye must have a hull passel o' tenderfeet a-comin' in yere."
The clerk frowned and his voice became slightly edged. "The r