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Mulford, Clarence Edward, 1883-1956

"Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up"

They cain't git away for long."
Buck and Red nodded and headed for Buzzard's Spring. As they neared
the water hole they saw Hopalong sitting on a rock, his head resting
in one hand while the other hung loosely from his knee. He did not
notice them when they arrived, and with a ready tact they sat quietly
on their horses and looked in every direction except toward him. The
sun became a ball of molten fire and the sand flies annoyed them
incessantly, but still they sat and waited, silent and apologetic.
Hopalong finally arose, reached for his sombrero, and, finding it
gone, swore long and earnestly at the scene its loss brought before
him. He walked over to his horse and, leaping into the saddle, turned
and faced his friends. "Yu old sons-of-guns," he said. They looked
sheepish and nodded negatively in answer to the look of inquiry in his
eyes. "They ain't got `em yet," remarked Red slowly. Hopalong
straightened up, his eyes narrowed and his face became hard and
resolute as he led the way back toward the town.
Buck rode up beside him and, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve,
began to speak to Red. "We might look up th' Joneses, Red. They had
been dodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' they was huntin'
Hopalong. Ever since we had to kill their brother in Buckskin they has
been yappin' as how they was goin' to wipe us out.


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