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Mulford, Clarence Edward, 1883-1956

"Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up"


"Hi-le, hi-lo" intruded upon his ear, as Mr. Cassidy got rid of the
surplus of his heart's joy. Another stone the size of a man's foot
shaved Mr. Travennes' ear and he hugged the side of the hole nearest
his enemy.
"Hibernate, blank yu!" derisively shouted the human catapult as he
released a chunk of sandstone the size of a quail. "Draw in yore laigs
an' buck," was his God-speed to the missile.
"Hey, yu!" indignantly yowled Mr. Travennes from his defective storm
cellar. "Don't yu know any better'n to heave things thataway?"
"Hi-le, hi-lo," sang Mr. Cassidy, as another stone soared aloft in
the direction of the complainant. Then he stood erect and awaited
results with a Colt's in his hand leveled at the rim of the hole. A
hat waved and an excited voice bit off chunks of expostulation and
asked for an armistice. Then two hands shot up and Mr. Travennes, sore
and disgusted and desperate, popped his head up an blinked at Mr.
Cassidy's gun.
"Yu was fillin' th' hole up," remarked Mr. Travennes in an accusing
tone, hiding the real reason for his evacuation. "In a little while
I'd a been th' top of a pile instead of th' bottom of a hole," he
announced, crawling out and rubbing his head.
Mr. Cassidy grinned and ordered his prisoner to one side while be
secured the weapon which lay in the hole. Having obtained it as
quickly as possible be slid it in his open shirt and clambered out
again.


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