the Riders Of High Rock (1993) Read Free Page A

laid the barrel of his six-shooter behind the Breed's ear. The man crumpled and went down. Hastily, Hopalong gathered him up, stripped him of weapons and ammunition, and then tied him to his horse. Slapping the horse, he started it down the trail, then swung into the saddle himself and turned in the other direction.
    It was broad daylight before he finally found a way that showed possibilities of reaching the bottom of the cliff. When he started down he found it was even easier going than he had expected. Off to his right Hoppy could hear a sizable stream running across rocks. Reaching the bottom, he started through the trees, riding slowly.
    He passed through a grove of tall pines and then stopped suddenly. Swinging to the ground, he tied his mount and then, rifle in hand, began looking around.
    Unless he was much mistaken, this was the place where the trail from above ended, but he found no evidence that Red Connors had ever reached the stream. Climbing a rock for a long view, Hopalong immediately spotted Red and scrambled over the rocks towards him.
    He dropped to his knees beside the man, and placed a hand over his heart. Faintly he could feel it beating.
    Swiftly he stopped and checked his injured friend for broken limbs. Finding none, he lifted Connors in his arms and made his way to the stream, and then scrambled for his canteen. Carefully he lifted Red's head and touched water to his lips. With his hand he scooped water from the stream and began to bathe Connors's face and head.
    The puncher stirred and opened his eyes. He looked up and blinked slowly as he saw Hoppy.
    "Reckon," he whispered, "you didn't come none too soon!"
    Hopalong made Red as comfortable as possible. Then he uncovered his friend's wounds and examined them. Only one was dangerous. The flesh wound in his side was badly inflamed. Otherwise his trouble had been weakness from thirst and loss of blood. The wound needed attention, and with the few remedies he always carried in his saddlebags Hopalong treated it as well as possible.
    Loading Red's rifle and his pistols, he refilled his cartridge belt while keeping a sharp eye on the terrain. This place showed no evidence of visitors, and it was possible that nobody had ever entered the tiny hollow. Where the trail led out to the north he had no idea, and east or west, the walls of the canyon blocked all approach or retreat.
    Carefully he scouted the area and returned to find Red fast asleep. Remaining under cover, he scanned the approach to the canyon. There was nothing and no one in sight but the far reaches of the forest, the blue of the distant hills, and no sound but the wind in the trees and the now-distant chuckle of the stream over its rocky bed.
    For the time being it appeared they were safe. Unless they stumbled across his trail, nobody would know there was anyone here but Red, and they would probably believe him dead or more badly injured than he had been. Wherever he went, Hopalong found the tracks of a big lion. Evidently it made its den within the area of his search. But there were other tracks. Mule deer were plentiful, and several times he saw sage hens. Seeing a trout leap in the stream, he rigged a line and hooked three in the first thirty minutes. With dry wood gathered from under the pines he built a smokeless fire and began baking the fish. Red was awake when he looked around at him, and Hopalong studied him sourly.
    "You sure you're hurt that bad?" he demanded. "Looks to me like you're just taking it easy at my expense. You always were a no-account."
    "Me?" Red exploded. "No-account? Why, you lowdown maverickin' coyote! I could work circles around you any day you ever saw, and I've done it many's the time!"
    "Yeah?" Hopalong sneered. "When did you ever put in a decent day's work?" Then before Red could make the angry retort that was forming on his lips, Hopalong interrupted, "What's the trouble, anyway? First thing that happens after I get to Tascotal is I hear you're getting yourself