"Yah!" snarled Manuel. "You wants to poison my little bird. You with
your fair hair and your cursed swagger!"
The six-shooter tentatively expanded and stopped six inches from the
Mexican's nose. "Yu wants to ride easy, hombre. I ain't no angel, but
I don't poison no woman; an' don't yu amble off with th' idea in yore
head that she wants to be poisoned. Why, she near stuck a knife in
me!" he lied.
The Mexican's face brightened somewhat, but it would take more than
that to wipe out the insult of the blow. The horse became restless,
and when Hopalong had effectively quieted it he spoke again.
"Did yu ever hear of Tamale Jose?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm th' fellow that stopped him in th' `dobe hut by th'
arroyo. I'm tellin' yu this so yu won't do nothin' rash an' leave
Carmencita a widow. Sabe?"
The hate on the Mexican's face redoubled and he took a short step
forward, but stopped when the muzzle of the Colt kissed his nose. He
was the brother of Tamale Jose. As he backed away from the cool touch
of the weapon he thought out swiftly his revenge. Some of his
brother's old companions were at that moment drinking mescal in a
saloon down the street, and they would be glad to see this Americano
die. He glanced past his house at the saloon and Hopalong misconstrued
his thoughts.
"Shore, go home. I'll just circulate around some for exercise.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98