Louis L'Amour_Hopalong Cassidy 04 by Trouble Shooter

Author:Trouble Shooter [Shooter, Trouble]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Cassidy; Hopalong (Fictitious Character), Murder, Western Stories, Western Fiction, The West, Fiction, Westerns, Ranches, Ranch Life
ISBN: 9780553571875
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1977-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

OVER ON DEAD Horse Pass, that seasoned old fighter Tom Burnside did not look upon his job as a sinecure. He felt he was on the pass for a serious purpose and he took it seriously. Every day he was in position well before time for the stage and mounted to a platform built high in a tree. From there he surveyed the country in every direction through a pair of ancient field glasses.

This platform was known to none but himself, and concealed by the foliage of the tree, it had never been discovered. From this lookout he carefully studied the terrain and every possible place for a holdup. On days when there was no treasure on the stage, he rode around the country, and as a matter of fact, he knew of the old wash as well as Tredway did, recognizing its usefulness to outlaws.

Tredway had visited the place and so had Bill Saxx, and he found their tracks there, although he had no idea to whom they belonged. Sure that he was barking up the right tree, Tom Burnside kept careful watch on the place, and about an hour before time he saw a small party of horsemen come from the bed of the Picket Fork, ride up the bank, and vanish in the direction of the junction of the Picket Fork with Chimney Creek. Burnside was well aware that the old wash ended at the same place, so was not surprised when the riders did not again appear.

Descending from his tree, he rode down the mountain to the foot of the pass, and then down the stage road to the bridge. Turning, he followed up the Picket Fork, and just beyond the intersection of the two streams, he found the mouth of the old wash. Five riders had recently entered there. Convinced of his rightness, he paused to consider his next step.

To ride up the wash would be foolhardy, and he was too wily an old campaigner to do such a thing. It was too late to attempt to ride for help, and he had no right to take any step until a crime was either begun, carried out, or strongly indicated. If the men donned masks, then he would be free to open fire. Finally, he decided to do the one thing left for him to do. He rode to the Chimney Creek bridge, walked his horse across it so as to make no more noise than necessary, and then he found himself a good spot of concealment in the patch of woods with a good field of fire. He prepared a rest for himself in the crotch of a tree and laid out several cartridges for his long-barreled Sharps .50 buffalo gun. Then he lit his pipe and settled down to wait. He felt good, better than in months. He would show the Taggart outfit they were not wasting money!

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