the Riders Of High Rock (1993) Read Free

that."
    "Name's Letsinger," the man said. "One time at Doan's Crossin' a feller lookin' somethin' like you sided me in some trouble. Saved my horses for me and kept me and my family from bein' set afoot. I ain't forgettin' that."
    "I'm mighty glad I look like that gent you speak of," Hopalong said gravely. "But I sure hope nobody else around here thinks so."
    "Reckon nobody would," Letsinger said, "unless it was that man up in the mountains."
    H opalong Cassidy rode over the top of Coon River Summit. He knew he was striking out blindly and must trust to luck. Yet it was not nearly so much of a guess as it seemed, for he had his knowledge of Red Connors's ways, and his own ability to read sign.
    Months ago Hopalong Cassidy had started north to visit his old friend Gibson of the 3TL Knowing Cassidy was headed that way, Red Connors also had started for the 3TL to meet him, and there their paths were to intersect. They planned, after a short visit, to start on for the Musselshell in Montana.
    Now Cassidy had arrived, only to find his friend on the run, perhaps badly wounded, and no word at all of either Gibson, his daughter, or the 3TL. All he knew was that the ranch lay some distance west of these mountains and that there was a possibility that it might also be in trouble. These potentials brought a chill to his heart and a glint of steel to his eyes.
    It was nighttime. Until dawn came, neither his knowledge of Red's habits nor his skill at tracking would be of much use in the darkness.
    Reaching the summit, he headed downhill and then
    turned into the brush and found the trail through the pines that Letsinger, the stablehand, had mentioned.
    When he had located Copper Mountain from certain landmarks that Letsinger had mentioned, and had reached the pines fairly well up on the crest, he drew back among some boulders and waited until dawn.
    Dawn arrived sooner than he expected, for the night had gone swiftly. He walked out of his hideaway, leading the pa-louse, and began searching for sign. Almost at once he found the trail of two riders. He backtracked them until suddenly he found the tracks of another horse. He stopped and examined this trail, and after studying it for half a mile he was sure that this was the horse ridden by Red Connors. Obviously the horse was nearly exhausted.
    An hour of careful work and Hopalong was coming to the conclusion that Red Connors had not been on the horse at the place where he had first seen its tracks--its path had a random quality that indicated no human intelligence was guiding it. Working back along its trail, searching with greater care, he found the place where the stirrup had dragged when Red carried off the saddle. From there it was but a few minutes until he had found the narrow ledge that led down the brink of the cliff.
    Leading the palouse back into the shelter of a grove of aspens, he took his rifle and walked down the path. When he found the place where Red had fainted from loss of blood, he studied the place for a long time. Obviously Red was all in. Hopalong's weather-beaten face became hard and cold. He found the saddle, concealed it, and started on down the path. Soon he found the empty canteen, long dry. Gathering it up, he studied the cliff before him.
    Red was trying to get to water, and he would be needing it
    badly. Whether he made it or not would be a question, but he was making a try. No matter whether he did or not, he would be closer to the bottom than the top, and it behooved Hopalong to return to the crest, get his horse, and find some way to the base of that cliff.
    He had reached the top when he heard footsteps. Stepping back into the shade of a boulder, he saw a man leading his palouse come from the aspens. The man's own horse stood close by. Hopalong drew his gun and waited. The man had a narrow, dark face and looked like a half-breed. The Breed gathered up his own reins and put his foot in the stirrup. In that instant Hopalong stepped from behind the boulder and