HOPALONG CASSIDY'S RUSTLER ROUND-UP

or

BAR-20

By Clarence Edward Mulford

1906

CHAPTER I. Buckskin

The town lay sprawled over half a square mile of alkali plain, its mainStreet depressing in its width, for those who were responsible for itsinception had worked with a generosity born of the knowledge that theyhad at their immediate and unchallenged disposal the broad lands ofTexas and New Mexico on which to assemble a grand total of twentybuildings, four of which were of wood. As this material was scarce, andhad to be brought from where the waters of the Gulf lapped against theflat coast, the last-mentioned buildings were a matter of local pride, as indicating the progressiveness of their owners. 

These creations of hammer and saw were of one story, crude andunpainted; their cheap weather sheathing, warped and shrunken by thepitiless sun, curled back on itself and allowed unrestricted entrance toalkali dust and air. The other shacks were of adobe, and reposed in thatmagnificent squalor dear to their owners, Indians and Mexicans. 

It was an incident of the Cattle Trail, that most unique and stupendousof all modern migrations, and its founders must have been inspired witha malicious desire to perpetrate a crime against geography, or else theyreveled in a perverse cussedness, for within a mile on every side laybroad prairies, and two miles to the east flowed the indolent waters ofthe Rio Pecos itself. The distance separating the town from the riverwas excusable, for at certain seasons of the year the placid streamswelled mightily and swept down in a broad expanse of turbulent, yellowflood. 

Buckskin was a town of one hundred inhabitants, located in the valley ofthe Rio Pecos fifty miles south of the Texas-New Mexico line. Thecensus claimed two hundred, but it was a well-known fact that it wasexaggerated. One instance of this is shown by the name of Tom Flynn. Those who once knew Tom Flynn, alias Johnny Redmond, alias Bill Sweeney, alias Chuck Mullen, by all four names, could find them in the censuslist. Furthermore, he had been shot and killed in the March of theyear preceding the census, and now occupied a grave in the young butflourishing cemetery. Perry's Bend, twenty miles up the river, wascognizant of this and other facts, and, laughing in open derision atthe padded list, claimed to be the better town in all ways, includingmarksmanship. 

One year before this tale opens, Buck Peters, an example for the morerecent Billy the Kid, had paid Perry's Bend a short but busy visit. Hehad ridden in at the north end of Main Street and out at the south. Ashe came in he was fired at by a group of ugly cowboys from a ranch knownas the C 80. He was hit twice, but he unlimbered his artillery, andbefore his horse had carried him, half dead, out on the prairie, he hadkilled one of the group. Several citizens had joined the cowboysand added their bullets against Buck. The deceased had been the bestbartender in the country, and the rage of the suffering citizens canwell be imagined. They swore vengeance on Buck, his ranch, and hisstamping ground. 

The difference between Buck and Billy the Kid is that the former nevershot a man who was not trying to shoot him, or who had not been warnedby some action against Buck that would call for it. He minded his ownbusiness, never picked a quarrel, and was quiet and pacific up toa certain point. After that had been passed he became like a ragingcyclone in a tenement house, and storm-cellars were much in demand. 

"Fanning" is the name of a certain style of gun play not unknown amongthe bad men of the West. While Buck was not a bad man, he had to rubelbows with them frequently, and he believed that the sauce for thegoose was the sauce for the gander. So be bad removed the trigger of hisrevolver and worked the hammer with the thumb of the "gun hand" or theheel of the unencumbered hand. The speed thus acquired was greater thanthat of the more modern double-action weapon. Six shots in a few secondswas his average speed when that number was required, and when it isthoroughly understood that at least some of them found their intendedbullets it is not difficult to realize that fanning was an operation ofdanger when Buck was doing it. 

He was a good rider, as all cowboys are, and was not afraid of anythingthat lived. At one time he and his chums, Red Connors and HopalongCassidy, had successfully routed a band of fifteen Apaches who wantedtheir scalps. Of these, twelve never hunted scalps again, nor anythingelse on this earth, and the other three returned to their tribe withthe report that three evil Spirits had chased them with "wheel guns"(cannons). 

So now, since his visit to Perry's Bend, the rivalry of the two townshad turned to hatred and an alert and eager readiness to increase theinhabitants of each other's graveyard. A state of war existed, which fora time resulted in nothing worse than acrimonious suggestions. But thetime came when the score was settled to the satisfaction of one side, atleast. 

Four ranches were also concerned in the trouble. Buckskin was surroundedby two, the Bar 20 and the Three Triangle. Perry's Bend was thecommon point for the C 80 and the Double Arrow. Each of the two ranchcontingents accepted the feud as a matter of course, and as a matterof course took sides with their respective towns. As no better class offighters ever lived, the trouble assumed Homeric proportions and insureda danger zone well worth watching. 

Bar-20's northern line was C 80's southern one, and Skinny Thompson tookhis turn at outriding one morning after the season's round-up. He was tofollow the boundary and turn back stray cattle. When he had covered thegreater part of his journey he saw Shorty Jones riding toward him on acourse parallel to his own and about long revolver range away. Shortyand he had "crossed trails" the year before and the best of feelings didnot exist between them. 

Shorty stopped and stared at Skinny, who did likewise at Shorty. Shortyturned his mount around and applied the spurs, thereby causing hisindignant horse to raise both heels at Skinny. The latter took it allin gravely and, as Shorty faced him again, placed his left thumb to hisnose, wiggling his fingers suggestively. Shorty took no apparent noticeof this but began to shout:

"Yu wants to keep yore busted-down cows on yore own side. They was allover us day afore yisterday. I'm goin' to salt any more what comes over, and don't yu fergit it, neither. "

Thompson wigwagged with his fingers again and shouted in reply: "Yu c'nsalt all yu wants to, but if I ketch yu adoin' it yu won't have to workno more. An' I kin say right here thet they's more C 80 cows over herethan they's Bar-20's over there. "

Shorty reached for his revolver and yelled, "Yore a liar!"

Among the cowboys in particular and the Westerners in general at thattime, the three suicidal terms, unless one was an expert in drawingquick and shooting straight with one movement, were the words "liar, ""coward, " and "thief. " Any man who was called one of these in earnest, and he was the judge, was expected to shoot if he could and save hislife, for the words were seldom used without a gun coming with them. Themovement of Shorty's hand toward his belt before the appellation reachedhim was enough for Skinny, who let go at long range--and missed. 

The two reports were as one. Both urged their horses nearer and firedagain. This time Skinny's sombrero gave a sharp jerk and a hole appearedin the crown. The third shot of Skinny's sent the horse of the other toits knees and then over on its side. Shorty very promptly crawled behindit and, as he did so, Skinny began a wide circle, firing at intervals asShorty's smoke cleared away. 

Shorty had the best position for defense, as he was in a shallow coule, but he knew that he could not leave it until his opponent had eithergrown tired of the affair or had used up his ammunition. Skinny knew it, too. Skinny also knew that he could get back to the ranch house and layin a supply of food and ammunition and return before Shorty could coverthe twelve miles he had to go on foot. 

Finally Thompson began to head for home. He had carried the matter asfar as he could without it being murder. Too much time had elapsed now, and, besides, it was before breakfast and he was hungry. He would goaway and settle the score at some time when they would be on equalterms. 

He rode along the line for a mile and chanced to look back. Two C 80punchers were riding after him, and as they saw him turn and discoverthem they fired at him and yelled. He rode on for some distance andcautiously drew his rifle out of its long holster at his right leg. Suddenly he turned around in the saddle and fired twice. One of hispursuers fell forward on the neck of his horse, and his comrade turnedto help him. Thompson wig-wagged again and rode on, reaching the ranchas the others were finishing their breakfast. 

At the table Red Connors remarked that the tardy one had a hole in hissombrero, and asked its owner how and where he had received it. 

"Had a argument with C 80 out'n th' line. "

"Go 'way! Ventilate enny?"

"One. "

"Good boy, sonny! Hey, Hopalong, Skinny perforated C 80 this mawnin'!"

Hopalong Cassidy was struggling with a mouthful of beef. He turned hiseyes toward Red without ceasing, and grinning as well as he could underthe circumstances managed to grunt out "Gu--, " which was as near to"Good" as the beef would allow. 

Lanky Smith now chimed in as he repeatedly stuck his knife into areluctant boiled potato, "How'd yu do it, Skinny?"

"Bet he sneaked up on him, " joshed Buck Peters; "did yu ask his pardin, Skinny?"

"Ask nuthin', " remarked Red, "he jest nachurly walks up to C 80 an' sez, 'Kin I have the pleasure of ventilatin' yu?' an' C So he sez, 'If yu doit easy like, ' sez he. Didn't he, Thompson?"

"They'll be some ventilatin' under th' table if yu fellows don't lemmealone; I'm hungry, " complained Skinny. 

"Say, Hopalong, I bets yu I kin clean up C 80 all by my lonesome, "announced Buck, winking at Red. 

"Yah! Yu onct tried to clean up the Bend, Buckie, an' if Pete an' Billyhadn't afound yu when they come by Eagle Pass that night yu wouldn't behere eatin' beef by th' pound, " glancing at the hard-working Hopalong. "It was plum lucky fer yu that they was acourtin' that time, wasn't it, Hopalong?" suddenly asked Red. Hopalong nearly strangled in his effortsto speak. He gave it up and nodded his head. 

"Why can't yu git it straight, Connors? I wasn't doin' no courtin', itwas Pete. I runned into him on th' other side o' th' pass. I'd look fineacourtin', wouldn't I?" asked the downtrodden Williams. 

Pete Wilson skillfully flipped a potato into that worthy's coffee, spilling the beverage of the questionable name over a large expanse ofblue flannel shirt. "Yu's all right, yu are. Why, when I meets yu, yuwas lost in th' arms of yore ladylove. All I could see was yore feet. Goan' git tangled up with a two hundred and forty pound half-breed squawan' then try to lay it onter me! When I proposed drownin' yoretroubles over at Cowan's, yu went an' got mad over what yu called th'insinooation. An' yu shore didn't look any too blamed fine, neither. "

"All th' same, " volunteered Thompson, who had taken the edge from hisappetite, "we better go over an' pay C 80 a call. I don't like whatShorty said about saltin' our cattle. He'll shore do it, unless I campson th' line, which same I hain't hankerin' after. "

"Oh, he wouldn't stop th' cows that way, Skinny; he was only afoolin', "exclaimed Connors meekly. 

"Foolin' yore gran'mother! That there bunch'll do anything if we wasn'tlookin', " hotly replied Skinny. 

"That's shore nuff gospel, Thomp. They's sore fer mor'n one thing. Theygot aplenty when Buck went on th' warpath, an they's hankerin' to gitsquare, " remarked Johnny Nelson, stealing the pie, a rare treat, of hisneighbor when that unfortunate individual was not looking. He hadit halfway to his mouth when its former owner, Jimmy Price, a boy ofeighteen, turned his head and saw it going. 

"Hi-yi! Yu clay-bank coyote, drap thet pie! Did yu ever see such ason-of-a-gun fer pie?" he plaintively asked Red Connors, as he grabbeda mighty handful of apples and crust. "Pie'll kill yu some day, yubob-tailed jack! I had an uncle that died onct. He et too much pie an'he went an' turned green, an so'll yu if yu don't let it alone. "

"Yu ought'r seed th' pie Johnny had down in Eagle Flat, " murmured LankySmith reminiscently. "She had feet that'd stop a stampede. Johnnywas shore loco about her. Swore she was the finest blossom thatever growed. " Here he choked and tears of laughter coursed down hisweather-beaten face as he pictured her. "She was a dainty Mexican, aboutfifteen han's high an' about sixteen han's around. Johnny used to chalkoff when he hugged her, usen't yu, Johnny? One night when he had gotpurty well around on th' second lap he run inter a feller jest startin'out on his fust. They hain't caught that Mexican yet. "

Nelson was pelted with everything in sight. He slowly wiped off thepie crust and bread and potatoes. "Anybody'd think I was a busted grubwagon, " he grumbled. When he had fished the last piece of beef out ofhis ear he went out and offered to stand treat. As the round-up wasover, they slid into their saddles and raced for Cowan's saloon atBuckskin. 

CHAPTER II. The Rashness of Shorty

Buckskin was very hot; in fact it was never anything else. Few peoplewere on the streets and the town was quiet. Over in the Houston hotela crowd of cowboys was lounging in the barroom. They were very quiet--acondition as rare as it was ominous. Their mounts, twelve in all, wereswitching flies from their quivering skins in the corral at the rear. Eight of these had a large C 80 branded on their flanks; the other four, a Double Arrow. 

In the barroom a slim, wiry man was looking out of the dirty windowup the street at Cowan's saloon. Shorty was complaining, "They shoreoughter be here now. They rounded up last week. " The man nearest assuredhim that they would come. The man at the window turned and said, "They'syer now. "

In front of Cowan's a crowd of nine happy-go-lucky, daredevil riderswere sliding from their saddles. They threw their reins over the headsof their mounts and filed in to the bar. Laughter issued from the opendoor and the clink of glasses could be heard. They stood in picturesquegroups, strong, self-reliant, humorous, virile. Their expensivesombreros were pushed far back on their heads and their hairy chaps werecovered with the alkali dust from their ride. 

Cowan, bottle in hand, pushed out several more glasses. He kicked a dogfrom under his feet and looked at Buck. "Rounded up yet?" he inquired. 

"Shore, day afore yisterday, " came the reply. The rest were busyremoving the dust from their throats, and gradually drifted into groupsof two or three. One of these groups strolled over to the solitary cardtable, and found Jimmy Price resting in a cheap chair, his legs on thetable. 

"I wisht yu'd extricate yore delicate feet from off'n this hyar table, James, " humbly requested Lanky Smith, morally backed up by those withhim. 

"Ya-as, they shore is delicate, Mr. Smith, " responded Jimmy withoutmoving. 

"We wants to play draw, Jimmy, " explained Pete. 

"Yore shore welcome to play if yu wants to. Didn't I tell yu when yugrowed that mustache that yu didn't have to ask me any more?" queriedthe placid James, paternally. 

"Call 'em off, sonny. Pete sez he kin clean me out. Anyhow, yu kin havethe fust deal, " compromised Lanky. 

"I'm shore sorry fer Pete if he cayn't. Yu don't reckon I has to havefust deal to beat yu fellers, do yu? Go way an' lemme alone; I neverseed such a bunch fer buttin' in as yu fellers. "

Billy Williams returned to the bar. Then he walked along it until hewas behind the recalcitrant possessor of the table. While his aggrievedfriends shuffled their feet uneasily to cover his approach, he tiptoedup behind Jimmy and, with a nod, grasped that indignant individualfirmly by the neck while the others grabbed his feet. They carried him, twisting and bucking, to the middle of the street and deposited him inthe dust, returning to the now vacant table. 

Jimmy rested quietly for a few seconds and then slowly arose, dustingthe alkali from him. 

"Th' wall-eyed piruts, " he muttered, and then scratched his head fora way to "play hunk. " As he gazed sorrowfully at the saloon he heard asnicker from behind him. He, thinking it was one of his late tormentors, paid no attention to it. Then a cynical, biting laugh stung him. Hewheeled, to see Shorty leaning against a tree, a sneering leer on hisflushed face. Shorty's right hand was suspended above his holster, hooked to his belt by the thumb--a favorite position of his whenexpecting trouble. 

"One of yore reg'lar habits?" he drawled. 

Jimmy began to dust himself in silence, but his lips were compressed toa thin white line. 

"Does they hurt yu?" pursued the onlooker. 

Jimmy looked up. "I heard tell that they make glue outen cayuses, sometimes, " he remarked. 

Shorty's eyes flashed. The loss of the horse had been rankling in hisheart all day. 

"Does they git yu frequent?" he asked. His voice sounded hard. 

"Oh, 'bout as frequent as yu lose a cayuse, I reckon, " replied Jimmyhotly. 

Shorty's hand streaked to his holster and Jimmy followed his lead. Jimmy's Colt was caught. He had bucked too much. As he fell Shorty ranfor the Houston House. 

Pistol shots were common, for they were the universal method ofexpressing emotions. The poker players grinned, thinking their victimwas letting off his indignation. Lanky sized up his hand and remarkedhalf audibly, "He's a shore good kid. "

The bartender, fearing for his new beveled, gilt-framed mirror, gave ahasty glance out the window. He turned around, made change and remarkedto Buck, "Yore kid, Jimmy, is plugged. " Several of the more credulouscraned their necks to see, Buck being the first. "Judas!" he shouted, and ran out to where Jimmy lay coughing, his toes twitching. The saloonwas deserted and a crowd of angry cowboys surrounded their chum-aboy. Buck had seen Shorty enter the door of the Houston House and he swore. "Chase them C 80 and Arrow cayuses behind the saloon, Pete, an' gitunder cover. "

Jimmy was choking and he coughed up blood. "He's shore--got me. My--gunstuck, " he added apologetically. He tried to sit up, but was not ableand he looked surprised. "It's purty-damn hot-out here, " he suggested. Johnny and Billy carried him in the saloon and placed him by the table, in the chair he had previously vacated. As they stood up he fell acrossthe table and died. 

Billy placed the dead boy's sombrero on his head and laid the refractorysix-shooter on the table. "I wonder who th' dirty killer was. " He lookedat the slim figure and started to go out, followed by Johnny. As hereached the threshold a bullet zipped past him and thudded into theframe of the door. He backed away and looked surprised. "That's Shorty'sshootin'--he allus misses 'bout that much. " He looked out and saw Buckstanding behind the live oak that Shorty had leaned against, firing atthe hotel. Turning around he made for the rear, remarking to Johnny that"they's in th' Houston. " Johnny looked at the quiet figure in the chairand swore softly. He followed Billy. Cowan, closing the door and takinga buffalo gun from under the bar, went out also and slammed the reardoor forcibly. 

CHAPTER III. The Argument

Up the street two hundred yards from the Houston House Skinny and Petelay hidden behind a bowlder. Three hundred yards on the other side ofthe hotel Johnny and Billy were stretched out in an arroyo. Buck waslying down now, and Hopalong, from his position in the barn belonging tothe hotel, was methodically dropping the horses of the besieged, a jobhe hated as much as he hated poison. The corral was their death trap. Red and Lanky were emitting clouds of smoke from behind the store, immediately across the street from the barroom. A buffalo gun roareddown by the plaza and several Sharps cracked a protest from differentpoints. The town had awakened and the shots were dropping steadily. 

Strange noises filled the air. They grew in tone and volume and thendwindled away to nothing. The hum of the buffalo gun and the sobbingpi-in-in-ing of the Winchesters were liberally mixed with the sharpwhines of the revolvers. 

There were no windows in the hotel now. Raw furrows in the bleached woodshowed yellow, and splinters mysteriously sprang from the casings. Thepanels of the door were producing cracks and the cheap door handleflew many ways at once. An empty whisky keg on the stoop boomed outmournfully at intervals and finally rolled down the steps with arumbling protest. Wisps of smoke slowly climbed up the walls and seemedto be waving defiance to the curling wisps in the open. 

Pete raised his shoulder to refill the magazine of his smoking rifle anddropped the cartridges all over his lap. He looked sheepishly at Skinnyand began to load with his other hand. 

"Yore plum loco, yu are. Don't yu reckon they kin hit a blue shirtat two hundred?" Skinny cynically inquired. "Got one that time, " heannounced a second later. 

"I wonder who's got th' buffalo, " grunted Pete. "Mus' be Cowan, " hereplied to his own question and settled himself to use his left hand. 

"Don't yu git Shorty; he's my meat, " suggested Skinny. 

"Yu better tell Buck--he ain't got no love fer Shorty, " replied Pete, aiming carefully. 

The panic in the corral ceased and Hopalong was now sending his regretsagainst the panels of the rear door. He had cut his last initial in thenear panel and was starting a wobbly "H" in its neighbor. He was in agood position. There were no windows in the rear wall, and as the doorwas a very dangerous place he was not fired at. 

He began to get tired of this one-sided business and crawled up on thewindow ledge, dangling his feet on the outside. He occasionally sent abullet at a different part of the door, but amused himself by annoyingBuck. 

"Plenty hot down there?" he pleasantly inquired, and as he received noanswer he tried again. "Better save some of them cartridges fer someother time, Buck. "

Buck was sending 45-70's into the shattered window with a precision thatpresaged evil to any of the defenders who were rash enough to try togain the other end of the room. 

Hopalong bit off a chew of tobacco and drowned a green fly that wascrawling up the side of the barn. The yellow liquid streaked downward ashort distance and was eagerly sucked up by the warped boards. 

A spurt of smoke leaped from the battered door and the bored Hopalongpromptly tumbled back inside. He felt of his arm, and then, delightedat the notice taken of his artistic efforts, shot several times froma crack on his right. "This yer's shore gittin' like home, " he gravelyremarked to the splinter that whizzed past his head. He shot again atthe door and it sagged outward, accompanied by the thud of a fallingbody. "Pies like mother used to make, " he announced to the loft as heslipped the magazine full of . 45-70'S. "An' pills like popper used totake, " he continued when he had lowered the level of the water in hisflask. 

He rolled a cigarette and tossed the match into the air, extinguishingit by a shot from his Colt. 

"Got any cigarettes, Hoppy?" said a voice from below. 

"Shore, " replied the joyous puncher, recognizing Pete; "how'd yu githere?"

"Like a cow. Busy?"

"None whatever. Comin' up?"

"Nope. Skinny wants a smoke too. "

Hopalong handed tobacco and papers down the hole. "So long. "

"So long, " replied the daring Pete, who risked death twice for a smoke. 

The hot afternoon dragged along and about three o'clock Buck held up anempty cartridge belt to the gaze of the curious Hopalong. That observantworthy nodded and threw a double handful of cartridges, one by one, tothe patient and unrelenting Buck, who filled his gun and piled the fewremaining ones up at his side. "Th' lives of mice and men gang aft allwrong, " he remarked at random. 

"Th' son-of-a-gun's talkin' Shakespeare, " marveled Hopalong. "Satiateany, Buck?" he asked as that worthy settled down to await his chance. 

"Two, " he replied, "Shorty an' another. Plenty damn hot down here, " hecomplained. A spurt of alkali dust stung his face, but the hand thatmade it never made another. "Three, " he called. "How many, Hoppy?"

 "One. That's four. Wonder if th' others got any?"

"Pete said Skinny got one, " replied the intent Buck. 

"Th' son-of-a-gun, he never said nothin' about it, an' me a fillin' hisornery paws with smokin'. " Hopalong was indignant. 

"Bet yu ten we don't git 'em afore dark, " he announced. 

"Got yu. Go yu ten more I gits another, " promptly responded Buck. 

"That's a shore cinch. Make her twenty. "

"She is. "

"Yu'll have to square it with Skinny, he shore wanted Shorty plum' bad, "Hopalong informed the unerring marksman. 

"Why didn't he say suthin' about it? Anyhow, Jimmy was my bunkie. "

Hopalong's cigarette disintegrated and the board at his left receiveda hole. He promptly disappeared and Buck laughed. He sat up in the loftand angrily spat the soaked paper out from between his lips. 

"All that trouble fer nothin', th' white-eyed coyote, " he muttered. Then he crawled around to one side and fired at the center of his "C. "Another shot hurtled at him and his left arm fell to his side. "That'sfunny--wonder where th' damn pirut is?" He looked out cautiously and sawa cloud of smoke over a knothole which was situated close up under theeaves of the barroom; and it was being agitated. Some one was blowing atit to make it disappear. He aimed very carefully at the knot and fired. He heard a sound between a curse and a squawk and was not molested anyfurther from that point. 

"I knowed he'd git hurt, " he explained to the bandage, torn from theedge of his kerchief, which he carefully bound around his last wound. 

Down in the arroyo Johnny was complaining. 

"This yer's a no good bunk, " he plaintively remarked. 

"It shore ain't--but it's th' best we kin find, " apologized Billy. 

"That's th' sixth that feller sent up there. He's a damn poor shot, "observed Johnny; "must be Shorty. "

"Shorty kin shoot plum' good--tain't him, " contradicted Billy. 

"Yas--with a six-shooter. He's off'n his feed with a rifle, " explainedJohnny. 

"Yu wants to stay down from up there, yu ijit, " warned Billy as thedisgusted Johnny crawled up the bank. He slid down again with a welt onhis neck. 

"That's somebody else now. He oughter a done better'n that, " he said. 

Billy had fired as Johnny started to slide and he smoothed his aggrievedchum. "He could onct, yu means. "

"Did yu git him?" asked the anxious Johnny, rubbing his welt. "Plum'center, " responded the business-like Billy. "Go up agin, mebby I kin gitanother, " he suggested tentatively. 

"Mebby you kin go to blazes. I ain't no gallery, " grinned the nowexuberant owner of the welt. 

"Who's got the buffalo?" he inquired as the great gun roared. 

"Mus' be Cowan. He's shore all right. Sounds like a bloomin' cannon, "replied Billy. "Lemme alone with yore fool questions, I'm busy, " hecomplained as his talkative partner started to ask another. "Go an' gitme some water--I'm alkalied. An' git some . 45's, mine's purty near gone. "

Johnny crawled down the arroyo and reappeared at Hopalong's barn. 

As he entered the door a handful of empty shells fell on his hat anddropped to the floor. He shook his head and remarked, "That mus' be thatfool Hopalong. "

"Yore shore right. How's business?" inquired the festive Cassidy. 

"Purty fair. Billy's got one. How many's gone?"

"Buck's got three, I got two and Skinny's got one. That's six, an' Billyis seven. They's five more, " he replied. 

"How'd yu know?" queried Johnny as he filled his flask at the horsetrough. 

"Because they's twelve cayuses behind the hotel. That's why. "

"They might git away on 'em, " suggested the practical Johnny. 

"Can't. They's all cashed in. "

"Yu said that they's five left, " ejaculated the puzzled water carrier. 

"Yah; yore a smart cuss, ain't yu?"

Johnny grinned and then said, "Got any smokin'?" Hopalong lookedgrieved. "I ain't no store. Why don't yu git generous and buy some?"

He partially filled Johnny's hand, and as he put the sadly depleted bagaway he inquired, "Got any papers?"

"Nope. "

"Got any matches?" he asked cynically. 

"Nope. "

"Kin yu smoke 'em?" he yelled, indignantly. 

"Shore nuff, " placidly replied the unruffled Johnny. "Billy wants some. 45-70's. "

Hopalong gasped. "Don't he want my gun, too?"

"Nope. Got a better one. Hurry up, he'll git mad. " Hopalong was a verymethodical person. He was the only one of his crowd to carry a secondcartridge strap. It hung over his right shoulder and rested on hisleft hip. His waist belt held thirty cartridges for the revolvers. Heextracted twenty from that part of the shoulder strap hardest to get at, the back, by simply pulling it over his shoulder and plucking out thebullets as they came into reach. 

"That's all yu kin have. I'm Buck's ammernition jackass, " he explained. "Bet yu ten we gits 'em afore dark"--he was hedging. 

"Any fool knows that. I'll take yu if yu bets th' other way, " respondedJohnny, grinning. He knew Hopalong's weak spot. 

"Yore on, " promptly responded Hopalong, who would bet on anything. 

"Well, so long, " said Johnny as he crawled away. 

"Hey, yu, Johnny!" called out Hopalong, "don't yu go an' tell anybody Igot any pills left. I ain't no ars'nal. "

Johnny replied by elevating one foot and waving it. Then he disappeared. 

Behind the store, the most precarious position among the besiegers, Red Connors and Lanky Smith were ensconced and commanded a view of theentire length of the barroom. They could see the dark mass they knew tobe the rear door and derived a great amount of amusement from the spotsof light which were appearing in it. 

They watched the "C" (reversed to them) appear and be completed. Whenthe wobbly "H" grew to completion they laughed heartily. Then thehardwood bar had been dragged across the field of vision and up to thefront windows, and they could only see the indiscriminate holes whichappeared in the upper panels at frequent intervals. 

Every time they fired they had to expose a part of themselves to areturn shot, with the result that Lanky's forearm was seared its entirelength. Red had been more fortunate and only had a bruised ear. 

They laboriously rolled several large rocks out in the open, pushingthem beyond the shelter of the store with their rifles. When they hadcrawled behind them they each had another wound. From their new positionthey could see Hopalong sitting in his window. He promptly waved hissombrero and grinned. 

They were the most experienced fighters of all except Buck, and weresaving their shots. When they did shoot they always had some portion ofa man's body to aim at, and the damage they inflicted was considerable. They said nothing, being older than the rest and more taciturn, andthey were not reckless. Although Hopalong's antics made them laugh, theygrumbled at his recklessness and were not tempted to emulate him. It wasnoticeable, too, that they shoved their rifles out simultaneously and, although both were aiming, only one fired. Lanky's gun cracked so closeto the enemy's that the whirr of the bullet over Red's head was mergedin the crack of his partner's reply. 

When Hopalong saw the rocks roll out from behind the store he grew verycurious. Then he saw a flash, followed instantly by another from thesecond rifle. He saw several of these follow shots and could sit insilence no longer. He waved his hat to attract attention and thenshouted, "How many?" A shot was sent straight up in the air and henotified Buck that there were only four left. 

The fire of these four grew less rapid--they were saving theirammunition. A pot shot at Hopalong sent that gentleman's rifle hurtlingto the ground. Another tore through his hat, removing a neat amount ofskin and hair and giving him a lifelong part. He fell back insideand proceeded to shoot fast and straight with his revolvers, his headburning as though on fire. When he had vented the dangerous pressureof his anger he went below and tried to fish the rifle in with a longstick. It was obdurate, so he sent three more shots into the door, and, receiving no reply, ran out around the corner of his shelter and graspedthe weapon. When half way back he sank to the ground. Before anothershot could be fired at him with any judgment a ripping, spitting riflewas being frantically worked from the barn. The bullets tore the doorinto seams and gaps; the lowest panel, the one having the "H" in it, fell inward in chunks. Johnny had returned for another smoke. 

Hopalong, still grasping the rifle, rolled rapidly around the corner ofthe barn. He endeavored to stand, but could not. Johnny, hearing rapidand fluent swearing, came out. 

"Where'd they git yu?" he asked. 

 "In th' off leg. Hurts like blazes. Did yu git him?"

"Nope. I jest come fer another cig; got any left?"

"Up above. Yore gall is shore apallin'. Help me in, yu two-laiggedjackass. "

"Shore. We'll shore pay our 'tentions to that door. She'll go purtysoon--she's as full of holes as th' Bad Lan's, " replied Johnny. "Gitaholt an' hop along, Hopalong. "

He helped the swearing Hopalong inside, and then the lead they pumpedinto the wrecked door was scandalous. Another panel fell in andHopalong's "C" was destroyed. A wide crack appeared in the one above itand grew rapidly. Its mate began to gape and finally both were drivenin. The increase in the light caused by these openings allowed Red andLanky to secure better aim and soon the fire of the defenders died out. 

Johnny dropped his rifle and, drawing his six-shooter, ran out anddashed for the dilapidated door, while Hopalong covered that openingwith a fusilade. 

As Johnny's shoulder sent the framework flying inward he narrowly missedsudden death. As it was he staggered to the side, out of range, anddropped full length to the ground, flat on his face. Hopalong's riflecracked incessantly, but to no avail. The man who had fired the shot wasdead. Buck got him immediately after he had shot Johnny. 

Calling to Skinny and Red to cover him, Buck sprinted to where Johnnylay gasping. The bullet had struck his shoulder. Buck, Colt in hand, leaped through the door, but met with no resistance. He signaled toHopalong, who yelled, "They's none left. "

The trees and rocks and gullies and buildings yielded men who sooncrowded around the hotel. A young doctor, lately graduated, appeared. Itwas his first case, but he eased Johnny. Then he went over to Hopalong, who was now raving, and attended to him. The others were patched upas well as possible and the struggling young physician had his pocketscrammed full of gold and silver coins. 

The scene of the wrecked barroom was indescribable. Holes, furrows, shattered glass and bottles, the liquor oozing down the walls of theshelves and running over the floor; the ruined furniture, a wrecked bar, seared and shattered and covered with blood; bodies as they had beenpiled in the corners; ropes, shells, hats; and liquor everywhere, overeverything, met the gaze of those who had caused the chaos. 

Perry's Bend had failed to wipe out the score. 

CHAPTER IV. The Vagrant Sioux

Buckskin gradually readjusted itself to the conditions which had existedbefore its sudden leap into the limelight as a town which did things. The soiree at the Houston House had drifted into the past, and wasnow substantially established as an epoch in the history of thetown. Exuberant joy gave way to dignity and deprecation, and to solidsatisfaction; and the conversations across the bar brought forthparallels of the affair to be judged impartially--and the impartialjudgment was, unanimously, that while there had undoubtedly been goodfights before Perry's Bend had disturbed the local quiet, they were notquite up to the new standard of strenuous hospitality. Finally the heatblistered everything back into the old state, and the shadows continuedto be in demand. 

One afternoon, a month after the reception of the honorable delegationfrom Perry's Bend, the town of Buckskin seemed desolated, and the earthand the buildings thereon were as huge furnaces radiating a visibleheat, but when the blazing sun had begun to settle in the west it awokewith a clamor which might have been laid to the efforts of a zealousSatan. At this time it became the Mecca of two score or more joyouscowboys from the neighboring ranches, who livened things as thoseknights of the saddle could. 

In the scant but heavy shadow of Cowan's saloon sat a picturesque figurefrom whom came guttural, resonant rumblings which mingled in a spirit ofloneliness with the fretful sighs of a flea-tormented dog. Both dog andmaster were vagrants, and they were tolerated because it was a matter ofsupreme indifference as to who came or how long they stayed as long asthe ethics and the unwritten law of the cow country were inviolate. Andthe breaking of these caused no unnecessary anxiety, for justice wasboth speedy and sure. 

When the outcast Sioux and his yellow dog had drifted into town some fewmonths before they had caused neither expostulation nor inquiry, as thecardinal virtue of that whole broad land was to ask a man no questionswhich might prove embarrassing to all concerned; judgment was ofobservation, not of history, and a man's past would reveal itselfthrough actions. It mattered little whether he was an embezzler or thewild chip from some prosperous eastern block, as men came to the rangeto forget and to lose touch with the pampered East; and the rangeabsorbed them as its own. 

A man was only a man as his skin contained the qualities necessary; andthe illiterate who could ride and shoot and live to himself was far moreesteemed than the educated who could not do those things. The more a mandepends upon himself and the closer is his contact to a quick judgmentthe more laconic and even-poised he becomes. And the knowledge that heis himself a judge tends to create caution and judgment. He has no courtto uphold his honor and to offer him protection, so he must be quick toprotect himself and to maintain his own standing. His nature saved him, or it executed; and the range absolved him of all unpaid penalties of acareless past. 

He became a man born again and he took up his burden, the exactions ofa new environment, and he lived as long as those exactions gave him theright to live. He must tolerate no restrictions of his natural rights, and he must not restrict; for the one would proclaim him a coward, the other a bully; and both received short shrifts in that land of theself-protected. The basic law of nature is the survival of the fittest. 

So, when the wanderers found their level in Buckskin they were not evenasked by what name men knew them. Not caring to hear a name which mightnot harmonize with their idea of the fitness of things, the cowboys ofthe Bar-20 had, with a freedom born of excellent livers and fearlesstemperaments, bestowed names befitting their sense of humor andadaptability. The official title of the Sioux was By-and-by; the dog wasknown as Fleas. Never had names more clearly described the objects to berepresented, for they were excellent examples of cowboy discernment andaptitude. 

In their eyes By-and-by was a man. He could feel and he could resentinsults. They did not class him as one of themselves, because he did nothave energy enough to demand and justify such classification. With themhe had a right to enjoy his life as he saw fit so long as he did nottrespass on or restrict the rights of others. They were not analyticin temperament, neither were they moralists. He was not a menace tosociety, because society had superb defenses. So they vaguely recognizedhis many poor qualities and clearly saw his few good ones. He couldshoot, when permitted, with the best; no horse, however refractory, hadever been known to throw him; he was an adept at following the trailsleft by rustlers, and that was an asset; he became of value to thecommunity; he was an economic factor. 

His ability to consume liquor with indifferent effects raised himanother notch in their estimation. He was not always talking when someone else wished to--another count. There remained about him that stoicalindifference to the petty; that observant nonchalance of the Indian;and there was a suggestion, faint, it was true, of a dignity common tochieftains. He was a log of grave deference which tossed on their sea ofmischievous hilarity. 

He wore a pair of corduroy trousers, known to the care-free as "pants, "which were held together by numerous patches of what had once beenbrilliantly colored calico. A pair of suspenders, torn into two separatestraps, made a belt for himself and a collar for his dog. The trousershad probably been secured during a fit of absent-mindedness on his partwhen their former owner had not been looking. Tucked at intervals inthe top of the corduroys (the exceptions making convenient shelves foralkali dust) was what at one time had been a stiff-bosomed shirt. Thiswas open down the front and back, the weight of the trousers on the beltholding it firmly on the square shoulders of the wearer, thus precludingthe necessity of collar buttons. A pair of moccasins, beautifully workedwith wampum, protected his feet from the onslaughts of cacti and theinquisitive and pugnacious sand flies; and lying across his lap wasa repeating Winchester rifle, not dangerous because it was empty, acondition due to the wisdom of the citizens in forbidding any one tosell, trade or give to him those tubes of concentrated trouble, becausehe could get drunk. 

The two were contented and happy. They had no cares nor duties, andtheir pleasures were simple and easily secured, as they consisted ofsleep and a proneness to avoid moving. Like the untrammeled coyote, their bed was where sleep overtook them; their food, what the nightwrapped in a sense of security, or the generosity of the cowboys of theBar-20. No tub-ridden Diogenes ever knew so little of responsibility oras much unadulterated content. There is a penalty even to civilizationand ambition. 

When the sun had cast its shadows beyond By-and-by's feet the air becamecharged with noise; shouts, shots and the rolling thunder of madlypounding hoofs echoed flatly throughout the town. By-and-by yawned, stretched and leaned back, reveling in the semi-conscious ecstasy of theknowledge that he did not have to immediately get up. Fleas opened oneeye and cocked an ear in inquiry, and then rolled over on his back, squirmed and sighed contentedly and long. The outfit of the Bar-20 hadcome to town. 

The noise came rapidly nearer and increased in volume as the ridersturned the corner and drew rein suddenly, causing their mounts to slideon their haunches in ankle-deep dust. 

"Hullo, old Buck-with-th'-pants, how's yore liver?"

"Come up an irrigate, old tank!"

"Chase th' flea ranch an' trail along!"

These were a few of the salutations discernible among the medley ofplayful yells, the safety valves of supercharged good-nature. 

"Skr-e-e!" yelled Hopalong Cassidy, letting off a fusillade of shots inthe vicinity of Fleas, who rapidly retreated around the corner, where hewagged his tail in eager expectation. He was not disappointed, for a cowpony tore around in pursuit and Hopalong leaned over and scratched theyellow back, thumping it heartily, and, tossing a chunk of beef into theopen jaws of the delighted dog, departed as he had come. The advent ofthe outfit meant a square meal, and the dog knew it. 

In Cowan's, lined up against the bar, the others were earnestly andassiduously endeavoring, with a promise of success, to get By-and-bydrunk, which endeavors coincided perfectly with By-and-by's idea of thefitness of things. The fellowship and the liquor combined to thawout his reserve and to loosen his tongue. After gazing with an air ofinjured surprise at the genial loosening of his knees he gravely handedhis rifle with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, to the cowboy nearesthim, and wrapped his arms around the recipient to insure his balance. The rifle was passed from hand to hand until it came to Buck Peters, whogravely presented it to its owner as a new gun. 

By-and-by threw out his stomach in an endeavor to keep his head in linewith his heels, and grasping the weapon with both hands turned to Cowan, to whom he gave it. 

"Yu hab this un. Me got two. Me keep new un, mebby so. " Then he loosenedhis belt and drank long and deep. 

A shadow darkened the doorway and Hopalong limped in. Spying By-and-bypushing the bottle into his mouth, while Red Connors propped him, he grinned and took out five silver dollars, which he jingled underBy-and-by's eyes, causing that worthy to lay aside the liquor anderratically grab for the tantalizing fortune. 

"Not yet, sabe?" said Hopalong, changing the position of the money. "Ifyu wants to corral this here herd of simoleons yu has to ride a cayusewhat Red bet me yu can't ride. Yu has got to grow on that there saddleand stayed growed for five whole minutes by Buck's ticker. I ain'ta-goin' to tell yu he's any saw-horse, for yu'd know better, as yureckons Red wouldn't bet on no losin' proposition if he knowed better, which same he don't. Yu straddles that four-laigged cloudburst an' yugets these, sabe? I ain't seen th' cayuse yet that yu couldn't freezeto, an' I'm backin' my opinions with my moral support an' one month'spay. "

By-and-by's eyes began to glitter as the meaning of the wordssifted through his befuddled mind. Ride a horse--five dollars--ride afive-dollars horse--horses ride dollars--then he straightened up andbegan to speak in an incoherent jumble of Sioux and bad English. He, the mighty rider of the Sioux; he, the bravest warrior and the greatesthunter; could he ride a horse for five dollars? Well, he rather thoughthe could. Grasping Red by the shoulder, he tacked for the door andnarrowly missed hitting the bottom step first, landing, as it happened, in the soft dust with Red's leg around his neck. Somewhat sobered by thejar, he stood up and apologized to the crowd for Red getting in the way, declaring that Red was a "Heap good un, " and that he didn't mean to doit. 

The outfit of the Bar-20 was, perhaps, the most famous of all fromCanada to the Rio Grande. The foreman, Buck Peters, controlled a crowdof men (who had all the instincts of boys) that had shown no quarterto many rustlers, and who, while always carefree and easy-going (evenfighting with great good humor and carelessness), had established thereputation of being the most reckless gang of daredevil gun-fightersthat ever pounded leather. Crooked gaming houses, from El Pasoto Cheyenne and from Phoenix to Leavenworth, unanimously andenthusiastically damned them from their boots to their sombreros, andthe sheriffs and marshals of many localities had received from theirhands most timely assistance--and some trouble. Wiry, indomitable, boyish and generous, they were splendid examples of virile manhood; and, surrounded as they were with great dangers and a unique civilization, they should not, in justice, be judged by opinions born of thecommonplace. 

They were real cowboys, which means, public opinion to the contrarynotwithstanding, that they were not lawless, nor drunken, shootingbullies who held life cheaply, as their kin has been unjustly pictured;but while these men were naturally peaceable they had to continuallyrub elbows with men who were not. Gamblers, criminals, bullies and theriffraff that fled from the protected East had drifted among them ingreat numbers, and it was this class that caused the trouble. 

The hardworking "cow-punchers" lived according to the law of the land, and they obeyed that greatest of all laws, that of self-preservation. Their fun was boisterous, but they paid for all the damage theyinflicted; their work was one continual hardship, and the reaction ofone extreme swings far toward the limit of its antithesis. Go back tothe Apple if you would trace the beginning of self-preservation and theneed. 

Buck Peters was a man of mild appearance, somewhat slow of speech andcorrespondingly quick of action, who never became flurried. His was themaster hand that controlled, and his Colts enjoyed the reputation ofnever missing when a hit could have been expected with reason. Manyfloods, stampedes and blizzards had assailed his nerves, but he yetcould pour a glass of liquor, held at arm's length, through a knotholein the floor without wetting the wood. 

Next in age came Lanky Smith, a small, undersized man of retiringdisposition. Then came Skinny Thompson, six feet four on his baredsoles, and true to his name; Hopalong described him as "th' shadow of achalk mark. " Pete Wilson, the slow-witted and very taciturn, andBilly Williams, the wavering pessimist, were of ordinary height andappearance. Red Connors, with hair that shamed the name, was thepossessor of a temper which was as dry as tinder; his greatest weaknesswas his regard for the rifle as a means of preserving peace. JohnnyNelson was the protege, and he could do no wrong. 

The last, Hopalong Cassidy, was a combination of irresponsibility, humor, good nature, love of fighting, and nonchalance when face to facewith danger. His most prominent attribute was that of always gettinginto trouble without any intention of so doing; in fact, he was muchaggrieved and surprised when it came. It seemed as though when any "badman" desired to add to his reputation he invariably selected Hopalong asthe means (a fact due, perhaps, to the perversity of things in general). Bad men became scarce soon after Hopalong became a fixture in anylocality. He had been crippled some years before in a successfulattempt to prevent the assassination of a friend, Sheriff Harris, ofAlbuquerque, and he still possessed a limp. 

When Red had relieved his feelings and had dug the alkali out of hisears and eyes, he led the Sioux to the rear of the saloon, where a"pinto" was busily engaged in endeavoring to pitch a saddle from hisback, employing the intervals in trying to see how much of the picketrope he could wrap around his legs. 

When By-and-by saw what he was expected to ride he felt somewhatrelieved, for the pony did not appear to have more than the ordinaryamount of cussedness. He waved his hand, and Johnny and Red bandaged theanimal's eyes, which quieted him at once, and then they untangledthe rope from around his legs and saw that the cinches were secure. Motioning to By-and-by that all was ready, they jerked the bandage offas the Indian settled himself in the saddle. 

Had By-and-by been really sober he would have taken the conceit out ofthat pony in chunks, and as it was he experienced no great difficulty inholding his seat; but in his addled state of mind he grasped the end ofthe cinch strap in such a way that when the pony jumped forward inits last desperate effort the buckle slipped and the cinch becameunfastened; and By-and-by, still seated in the saddle, flew headforemost into the horse trough, where he spilled much water. 

As this happened Cowan turned the corner, and when he saw the wastedwater (which he had to carry, bucketful at a time, from the wells a goodquarter of a mile away) his anger blazed forth, and yelling, he ranfor the drenched Sioux, who was just crawling out of his bath. When theunfortunate saw the irate man bearing down on him he sputtered in rageand fear, and, turning, he ran down the street, with Cowan thunderingflatfootedly behind on a fat man's gallop, to the hysterical cheers ofthe delighted outfit, who saw in it nothing but a good joke. 

When Cowan returned from his hopeless task, blowing and wheezing, heheard sundry remarks, sotto voce, which were not calculated to increasehis opinion of his physical condition. 

"Seems to me, " remarked the irrepressible Hopalong, "that one of thosecayuses has got th' heaves. "

"It shore sounds like it, " acquiesced Johnny, red in the face fromholding in his laughter, "an' say, somebody interferes. "

"All knock-kneed animals do, yu heathen, " supplied Red. 

"Hey, yu, let up on that and have a drink on th' house, " invitedCowan. "If I gits that durn war whoop I'll make yu think there's beena cyclone. I'll see how long that bum hangs around this here burg, Iwill. "

Red's eyes narrowed and his temper got the upper hand. "He ain't no bumwhen yu gives him rotgut at a quarter of a dollar a glass, is he? Anytime that 'bum' gits razzled out for nothin' more'n this, why, I goestoo; an' I ain't sayin' nothin' about goin' peaceable--like, neither. "

"I knowed somethin' like this 'ud happen, " dolefully sang out BillyWilliams, strong on the side of his pessimism. 

"For th' Lord's sake, have you broke out?" asked Red, disgustedly. "I'mgoin' to hit the trail--but just keep this afore yore mind: if By-and-bygits in any accidents or ain't in sight when I comes to town again, thishere climate'll be a heep sight hotter'n it is now. No hard feelings, sabe? It's just a casual bit of advice. Come on, fellows, let'samble--I'm hungry. "

As they raced across the plain toward the ranch a pair of beady eyes, snapping with a drunken rage, watched them from an arroyo; and whenCowan entered the saloon the next morning he could not find By-and-by'srifle, which he had placed behind the bar. He also missed a handful ofcartridges from the box near the cash drawer; and had he looked closelyat his bottled whisky he would have noticed a loss there. A horse wasmissing from a Mexican's corral and there were rumors that severalIndians had been seen far out on the plain. 

CHAPTER V. The Law of the Range

"Phew! I'm shore hungry, " said Hopalong, as he and Red dismounted at theranch the next morning for breakfast. "Wonder what's good for it?"

"They's three things that's good for famine, " said Red, leading the wayto the bunk house. "Yu can pull in yore belt, yu can drink, an yu caneat. Yore getting as bad as Johnny--but he's young yet. "

The others met their entrance with a volley of good-humored banter, someof which was so personal and evoked such responses that it sounded likethe preliminary skirmish to a fight. But under all was that soft accent, that drawl of humorous appreciation and eyes twinkling in suppressedmerriment. Here they were thoroughly at home and the spirit ofcomradeship manifested itself in many subtle ways; the wit became moredaring and sharp, Billy lost some of his pessimism, and the alertnessdisappeared from their manner. 

Skinny left off romping with Red and yawned. "I wish that cook'ud wakeup an' git breakfast. He's the cussedest hombre I ever saw--he kin go tosleep standin' up an' not know it. Johnny's th' boy that worries him--th'kid comes in an' whoops things up till he's gorged himself. "

"Johnny's got th' most appallin' feel for grub of anybody I knows, "added Red. "I wonder what's keepin' him--he's usually hangin' around herebawlin' for his grub like a spoiled calf, long afore cookie's got th'fire goin'. "

"Mebby he rustled some grub out with him--I saw him tip-toein' out of th'gallery this mornin' when I come back for my cigs, " remarked Hopalong, glancing at Billy. 

Billy groaned and made for the gallery. Emerging half a minute later heblurted out his tale of woe: "Every time I blows myself an' don't drinkit all in town some slab-sided maverick freezes to it. It's gone, " headded, dismally. 

"Too bad, Billy--but what is it?" asked Skinny. 

"What is it? Wha'd yu think it was, you emaciated match? Jewelry?Cayuses? It's whisky--two simoleons' worth. Some-thin's allus wrong. Thishere whole yearth's wrong, just like that cross-eyed sky pilot said overto--"

"Will yu let up?" Yelled Red, throwing a sombrero at the grumblingunfortunate. "Yu ask Buck where yore tanglefoot is. 

"I'd shore look nice askin' th' boss if he'd rustled my whisky, wouldn'tI? An' would yu mind throwin' somebody else's hat? I paid twenty wheelsfor that eight years ago, and I don't want it mussed none. "

"Gee, yore easy! Why, Ah Sing, over at Albuquerque, gives them awayevery time yu gits yore shirt washed, " gravely interposed Hopalong as hewent out to cuss the cook. 

"Well, what'd yu think of that?" Exclaimed Billy in an injured tone. 

"Oh, yu needn't be hikin' for Albuquerque--WasheeWashee'ud charge yudouble for washin' yore shirt. Yu ought to fall in di' river someday--then he might talk business, " called Hopalong over his shoulderas he heaved an old boot into the gallery. "Hey, yu hibernatin' son ofmorphine, if yu don't git them flapjacks in here pretty sudden-likeI'll scatter yu all over di' landscape, sabe? Yu just wait till Johnnycomes!"

"Wonder where th' kid is?" asked Lanky, rolling a cigarette. "Offsomewhere lookin' at di' sun through di' bottom of my bottle, " grumbledBilly. 

Hopalong started to go out, but halted on the sill and looked steadilyoff toward the northwest. "That's funny. Hey, fellows, here comes Buckan' Johnny ridin' double--on a walk, too!" he exclaimed. "Wonder whatth'--thunder! Red, Buck's carryun' him! Somethin's busted!" he yelled, ashe dashed for his pony and made for the newcomers. 

"I told yu he was hittin' my bottle, " pertly remarked Billy, as hefollowed the rest outside. 

"Did yu ever see Johnny drunk? Did yu ever see him drink more'n twoglasses? Shut yore wailin' face--they's somethin' worse'n that in thishere, " said Red, his temper rising. "Hopalong an' me took yore cheapliquor--it's under Pete's bunk, " he added. 

The trio approached on a walk and Johnny, delirious and covered withblood, was carried into the bunk house. Buck waited until all hadassembled again and then, his face dark with anger, spoke sharply andwithout the usual drawl: "Skragged from behind, blast them! Get somegrub an' water an' be quick. We'll see who the gent with th' grudge is. "

At this point the expostulations of the indignant cook, who, notunderstanding the cause, regarded the invasion of china shop bulls assacrilegious, came to his ears. Striding quickly to the door, he grabbedthe pan the Mexican was about to throw and, turning the now frightenedman around, thundered, "Keep quiet an' get 'em some grub. "

When rifles and ammunition had been secured they mounted and followedhim at a hard gallop along the back trail. No words were spoken, fornone were necessary. All knew that they would not return until theyhad found the man for whom they were looking, even if the chase ledto Canada. They did not ask Buck for any of the particulars, for theforeman was not in the humor to talk, and all, save Hopalong, whosecuriosity was always on edge, recognized only two facts and cared fornothing else: Johnny had been ambushed and they were going to get theone who was responsible. 

They did not even conjecture as to who it might be, because the trailwould lead them to the man himself, and it mattered nothing who or whathe was--there was only one course to take with an assassin. So they saidnothing, but rode on with squared jaws and set lips, the seven poniesbreast to breast in a close arc. 

Soon they came to an arroyo which they took at a leap. As theyapproached it they saw signs in the dust which told them that a body hadlain there huddled up; and there were brown spots on the baked alkali. The trail they followed was now single, Buck having ridden along thebank of the arroyo when hunting for Johnny, for whom he had orders. Thistrail was very irregular, as if the horse had wandered at will. Suddenlythey came upon five tracks, all pointing one way, and four of theseturned abruptly and disappeared in the northwest. Half a mile beyond thepoint of separation was a chaparral, which was an important factor tothem. 

Each man knew just what had taken place as if he had been an eyewitness, for the trail was plain. The assassins had waited in the chaparral forJohnny to pass, probably having seen him riding that way. When he hadpassed and his back had been turned to them they had fired and woundedhim severely at the first volley, for Johnny was of the stuff thatfights back and his revolvers had showed full chambers and clean barrelswhen Red had examined them in the bunk house. Then they had given chasefor a short distance and, from some inexplicable motive, probably fear, they had turned and ridden off without knowing how bad he was hit. Itwas this trail that led to the northwest, and it was this trail thatthey followed without pausing. 

When they had covered fifty miles they sighted the Cross Bar O ranchwhere they hoped to secure fresh mounts. As they rode up to the ranchhouse the owner, Bud Wallace, came around the corner and saw them. 

 "Hullo, boys! What deviltry are yu up to now?" he asked. Buckleaped from his mount, followed by the others, and shoved his sombreroback on his head as he started to remove the saddle. 

"We're trailin' a bunch of murderers. They ambushed Johnny an' blamenear killed him. I stopped here to get fresh cayuses. "

"Yu did right!" replied Wallace heartily. Then raising his voice heshouted to some of his men who were near the corral to bring up theseven best horses they could rope. Then he told the cook to bring outplenty of food and drink. 

"I got four punchers what ain't doin' nothin' but eat, " he suggested. 

"Much obliged, Wallace, but there's only four of 'em, an' we'd ratherget 'em ourselves--Johnny'ud feel better, " replied Buck, throwing hissaddle on the horse that was led up to him. 

"How's yore cartridges--got plenty?" Persisted Wallace. 

"Two hundred apiece, " responded Buck, springing into his saddle andriding off. "So long, " he called. 

"So long, an' plug blazes out of them, " shouted Wallace as the dustswept over him. 

At five in the afternoon they forded the Black River at a point where itcrossed the state line from New Mexico, and at dusk camped at the baseof the Guadalupe Mountains. At daybreak they took up the chase, grim andmerciless, and shortly afterward they passed the smoldering remains ofa camp fire, showing that the pursued had been in a great hurry, for itshould have been put out and masked. At noon they left the mountains tothe rear and sighted the Barred Horeshoe, which they approached. 

The owner of the ranch saw them coming, and from their appearancesurmised that something was wrong. 

"What is it?" He shouted. "Rustlers?"

"Nope. Murderers. I wants to swap cayuses quick, " answered Buck. 

"There they are. Th' boys just brought 'em in. Anything else I can letyu have?"

"Nope, " shouted Buck as they galloped off. 

"Somebody's goin' to get plugged full of holes, " murmured the ranchowner as he watched them kicking up the dust in huge clouds. 

After they had forded a tributary of the Rio Penasco near the SacramentoMountains and had surmounted the opposite bank, Hopalong spurred hishorse to the top of a hummock and swept the plain with Pete's fieldglasses, which he had borrowed for the occasion, and returned to therest, who had kept on without slacking the pace. As he took up hisformer position he grunted, "War-whoops, " and unslung his rifle, anexample followed by the others. 

The ponies were now running at top speed, and as they shot over a risetheir riders saw their quarry a mile and a half in advance. One of theIndians looked back and discharged his rifle in defiance, and it nowbecame a race worthy of the name--Death fled from Death. The freshermounts of the cowboys steadily cut down the distance and, as the riflesof the pursuers began to speak, the hard-pressed Indians made for thesmaller of two knolls, the plain leading to the larger one being tooheavily strewn with bowlders to permit speed. 

As the fugitives settled down behind the rocks which fringed the edge oftheir elevation a shot from one of them disabled Billy's arm, but had noother effect than to increase the score to be settled. The pursuersrode behind a rise and dismounted, from where, leaving their mountsprotected, they scattered out to surround the knoll. 

Hopalong, true to his curiosity, finally turned up on the highest pointof the other knoll, a spur of the range in the west, for he alwayswanted to see all he could. Skinny, due to his fighting instinct, settled one hundred yards to the north and on the same spur. Buck layhidden behind an enormous bowlder eight hundred yards to the northeastof Skinny, and the same distance southeast of Buck was Red Connors, whowas crawling up the bed of an arroyo. Billy, nursing his arm, lay infront of the horses, and Pete, from his position between Billy andHopalong, was crawling from rock to rock in an endeavor to get nearenough to use his Colts, his favorite and most effective weapons. Intermittent puffs of smoke arising from a point between Skinny and Buckshowed where Lanky Smith was improving each shining hour. 

There had been no directions given, each man choosing his own position, yet each was of strategic worth. Billy protected the horses, Hopalongand Skinny swept the knoll with a plunging fire, and Lanky and Buck layin the course the besieged would most likely take if they tried a dash. Off to the east Red barred them from creeping down the arroyo, and fromwhere Pete was he could creep up to within sixty yards if he chose theright rocks. The ranges varied from four hundred yards for Buck to sixtyfor Pete, and the others averaged close to three hundred, which allowedvery good shooting on both sides. 

Hopalong and Skinny gradually moved nearer to each other forcompanionship, and as the former raised his head to see what the otherswere doing he received a graze on the ear. 

"Wow!" he yelled, rubbing the tingling member. 

Two puffs of smoke floated up from the knoll, and Skinny swore. 

"Where'd he get yu, Fat?" asked Hopalong. 

"G'wan, don't get funny, son, " replied Skinny. 

Jets of smoke arose from the north and east, where Buck and Red werestationed, and Pete was half way to the knoll. So far he hadn't been hitas he dodged in and out, and, emboldened by his luck, he made a run offive yards and his sombrero was shot from his head. Another dash and hisempty holster was ripped from its support. As he crouched behind a rockhe heard a yell from Hopalong, and saw that interested individual wavinghis sombrero to cheer him on. An angry pang! from the knoll caused thatenthusiastic rooter to drop for safety. 

"Locoed son-of-a-gun, " complained Pete. "He'll shore git potted. " Thenhe glanced at Billy, who was the center of several successive spurts ofdust. 

"How's business, Billy?" he called pleasantly. 

"Oh, they'll git me yet, " responded the pessimist. "Yu needn't gitanxious. If that off buck wasn't so green he'd 'a' had me long ago. "

"Ya-hoo! Pete! Oh, Pete!" called Hopalong, sticking his head out at oneside and grinning as the wondering object of his hail craned his neck tosee what the matter was. 

"Huh?" grunted Pete, and then remembering the distance he shouted, "What's th' matter?"

"Got any cigarettes?" asked Hopalong. 

"Yu poor sheep!" said Pete, and turning back to work he drove a . 45 intoa yellow moccasin. 

Hopalong began to itch and he saw that he was near an ant hill. Then thecactus at his right boomed out mournfully and a hole appeared in it. Hefired at the smoke and a yell informed him that he had made a hit. "Go 'way!" he complained as a green fly buzzed past his nose. Then hescratched each leg with the foot of the other and squirmed incessantly, kicking out with both feet at once. A warning metallic whir-r-r! on hisleft caused to yank them in again, and turning his head quickly he thepleasure of lopping off the head of a rattlesnake with his Colt's. 

"Glad yu wasn't a copperhead, " he exclaimed. "Somebody had ought 'a'shot that fool Noah. Blast the ants!" He drowned with a jet of tobaccojuice a Gila monster that was staring at him and took a savage delightin its frantic efforts to bury itself. 

Soon he heard Skinny swear and he sung out: "What's the matter, Skinny?Git plugged again?"

"Naw, bugs--ain't they mean?" Plaintively asked his friend. "They ain'tnone over here. What kind of bugs?"

"Sufferin' Moses, I ain't no bugologist! All kinds!"

But Hopalong got it at last. He had found tobacco and rolled acigarette, and in reaching for a match exposed his shoulder to a shotthat broke his collar bone. Skinny's rifle cracked in reply and theoffending brave rolled out from behind a rock. From the fuss emanatingfrom Hopalong's direction Skinny knew that his neighbor had been hit. 

"Don't yu care, Hoppy. I got th' cuss, " he said consolingly. "Where'd hegit yu?" he asked. 

"In di' heart, yu pie-faced nuisance. Come over here an' corral thiscussed bandage an' gimme some water, " snapped the injured man. 

Skinny wormed his way through the thorny chaparral and bound up theshoulder. "Anything else?" he asked. 

"Yes. Shoot that bunch of warts an' blow that tobacco-eyed Gila toCheyenne. This here's worse than the time we cleaned out th' C 80outfit!" Then he kicked the dead toad and swore at the sun. 

"Close yore yap; yore worse than a kid! Anybody'd think yu never gotplugged afore, " said Skinny indignantly. 

"I can cuss all I wants, " replied Hopalong, proving his assertion as hegrabbed his gun and fired at the dead Indian. A bullet whined abovehis head and Skinny fired at the smoke. He peeped out and saw that hisfriends were getting nearer to the knoll. 

"They's closin' in now. We'll soon be gittin' home, " he reported. 

Hopalong looked out in time to see Buck make a dash for a bowlder thatlay ten yards in front of him, which he reached in safety. Lanky alsoran in and Pete added five more yards to his advance. Buck madeanother dash, but leaped into the air, and, coming down as if from anintentional high jump, staggered and stumbled for a few paces and thenfell flat, rolling over and over toward the shelter of a split rock, where he lay quiet. A leering red face peered over the rocks on theknoll, but the whoop of exultation was cut short, for Red's riflecracked and the warrior rolled down the steep bank, where another shotfrom the same gun settled him beyond question. 

Hopalong choked and, turning his face away, angrily dashed his knucklesinto his eyes. "Blast 'em! Blast 'em! They've got Buck! They've gotBuck, blast 'em! They've got Buck, Skinny! Good old Buck! They've gothim! Jimmy's gone, Johnny's plugged, and now Buck's gone! Come on!"he sobbed in a frenzy of vengeance. "Come on, Skinny! We'll tear theircussed hides into a deeper red than they are now! Oh, blast it, I can'tsee--where's my gun?" He groped for the rifle and fought Skinny when thelatter, red-eyed but cool, endeavored to restrain him. "Lemme go, curseyu! Don't yu know they got Buck? Lemme go!"

"Down! Red's got di' skunk. Yu can't do nothin'--they'd drop yu aforeyu took five steps. Red's got him, I tell yu! Do yu want me to lick yu?We'll pay 'em back with interest if yu'll keep yore head!" exclaimedSkinny, throwing the crazed man heavily. 

Musical tones, rising and falling in weird octaves, whining pityingly, diabolically, sobbing in a fascinating monotone and slobbering inragged chords, calling as they swept over the plain, always calling andexhorting, they mingled in barbaric discord with the defiant barks ofthe six-shooters and the inquiring cracks of the Winchesters. High up inthe air several specks sailed and drifted, more coming up rapidly fromall directions. Buzzards know well where food can be found. 

As Hopalong leaned back against a rock he was hit in the thigh by aricochet that tore its way out, whirling like a circular saw, a spanabove where it entered. The wound was very nasty, being ripped twicethe size made by an ordinary shot, and it bled profusely. Skinny crawledover and attended to it, making a tourniquet of his neckerchief andclumsily bandaging it with a strip torn from his shirt. 

"Yore shore lucky, yu are, " he grumbled as he made his way back to hispost, where he vented his rancor by emptying the semi-depleted magazineof his Winchester at the knoll. 

Hopalong began to sing and shout and he talked of Jimmy and hischildhood, interspersing the broken narrative with choice selectionsas sung in the music halls of Leavenworth and Abilene. He wound up byyelling and struggling, and Skinny had his hands full in holding him. 

"Hopalong! Cassidy! Come out of that! Keep quiet--yu'll shore git pluggedif yu don't stop that plungin'. For gosh sake, did yu hear that?" Abullet viciously hissed between them and flattened out on a near-byrock; others cut their way through the chaparral to the sound of fallingtwigs, and Skinny threw himself on the struggling man and strappedHopalong with his belt to the base of a honey mesquite that grew at hisside. 

"Hold still, now, and let that bandage alone. Yu allus goes off di'range when yu gets plugged, " he complained. He cut down a cactus andpoured the sap over the wounded man's face, causing him to gurgle andlook around. His eyes had a sane look now and Skinny slid off his chest. 

"Git that--belt loose; I ain't--no cow, " brokenly blazed out the picketedHopalong. Skinny did so, handed the irate man his Colts and returned tohis own post, from where he fired twice, reporting the shots. 

"I'm tryin' to get him on th' glance' first one went high an' th' otherfell flat, " he explained. 

Hopalong listened eagerly, for this was shooting that he couldappreciate. "Lemme see, " he commanded. Skinny dragged him over to acrack and settled down for another try. 

"Where is he, Skinny?" Asked Hopalong. 

"Behind that second big one. No, over on this here side. See that smoothgranite? If I can get her there on th' right spot he'll shore know it. "He aimed carefully and fired. 

Through Pete's glasses Hopalong saw a leaden splotch appear on the rockand he notified the marksman that he was shooting high. "Put her on thatbump closer down, " he suggested. Skinny did so and another yell reachedtheir ears. 

"That's a dandy. Yore shore all right, yu old cuss, " complimentedHopalong, elated at the success of the experiment. 

Skinny fired again and a brown arm flopped out into sight. Another shotstruck it and it jerked as though it were lifeless. 

"He's cashed. See how she jumped? Like a rope, " remarked Skinny with agrin. The arm lay quiet. 

Pete had gained his last cover and was all eyes and Colts. Lanky wasalso very close in and was intently watching one particular rock. Several shots echoed from the far side of the knoll and they knew thatRed was all right. Billy was covering a cluster of rocks that protrudedabove the others and, as they looked, his rifle rang out and the lastdefender leaped down and disappeared in the chaparral. He wore yellowtrousers and an old boiled shirt. 

"By an'-by, by all that's bad!" yelled Hopalong. "Th' measly coyote! An'me a-fillin' his ornery hide with liquor. Well, they'll have to findhim all over again now, " he complained, astounded by the revelation. Hefired into the chaparral to express his pugnacious disgust and scaredout a huge tarantula, which alighted on Skinny's chaps, crawling rapidlytoward the unconscious man's neck. Hopalong's face hardened and heslowly covered the insect and fired, driving it into the sand, tornand lifeless. The bullet touched the leathern garment and Skinnyremonstrated, knowing that Hopalong was in no condition for fancyshooting. 

"Huh!" exclaimed Hopalong. "That was a tarantula what I plugged. Hewas headin' for yore neck, " he explained, watching the chaparral withapprehension. 

"Go 'way, was it? Bully for yu!" exclaimed Skinny, tarantulas beingplaced at par with rattlesnakes, and he considered that he had beensaved from a horrible death. "Thought yu said they wasn't no bugs overhere, " he added in an aggrieved tone. 

"They wasn't none. Yu brought 'em. I only had th' main show--Gilas, rattlers an' toads, " he replied, and then added, "Ain't it cussed hot uphere?"

"She is. Yu won't have no cinch ridin' home with that leg. Yu bettertake my cayuse--he's busted more'n yourn, " responded Skinny. 

"Yore cayuse is at th' Cross Bar O, yu wall-eyed pirute. "

"Shore 'nuff. Funny how a feller forgets sometimes. Lemme alone now, they's goin' to git By-an'-by. Pete an' Lanky has just went in afterhim. "

That was what had occurred. The two impatient punchers, had grown tiredof waiting, and risked what might easily have been death in order tohasten matters. The others kept up a rapid fire, directed at the far endof the chaparral on the knoll, in order to mask the movements of theirventuresome friends, intending also to drive By-and-by toward them sothat he would be the one to get picked off as he advanced. 

Several shots rang out in quick succession on the knoll and thechaparral became agitated. Several more shots sounded from the depthof the thicket and a mounted Indian dashed out of the northern edge andheaded in Buck's direction. His course would take him close to Buck, whom he had seen fall, and would let him escape at a point midwaybetween Red and Skinny, as Lanky was on the knoll and the range was veryfar to allow effective shooting by these two. 

Red saw him leave the chaparral and in his haste to reload jammed thecartridge, and By-and-by swept on toward temporary safety, with Reddancing in a paroxysm of rage, swelling his vocabulary with words he hadforgotten existed. 

By-and-by, rising to his full height in the saddle, turned and wiggledhis fingers at the frenzied Red and made several other signs that thecowboy was in the humor to appreciate to the fullest extent. Then heturned and shook his rifle at the marksmen on the larger knoll, whosebest shots kicked up the dust fully fifty yards too short. The pony wassweeping toward the reservation and friends only fifteen miles away, and By-and-by knew that once among the mountains he would be on equalfooting at least with his enemies. 

As he passed the rock behind which Buck lay sprawled on his face heuttered a piercing whoop of triumph and leaned forward on his pony'sneck. Twenty leaps farther and the spiteful crack of a rifle echoed fromwhere the foreman was painfully supporting himself on his elbows. Thepony swept on in a spurt of nerve-racking speed, but alone. By-and-byshrieked again and crashed heavily to the ground, where he rolledinertly and then lay still. Men like Buck are dangerous until theirhearts have ceased to beat. 

CHAPTER VI. Trials of the Convalescent

The days at the ranch passed in irritating idleness for those whohad obstructed the flight of hostile lead, and worse than any of thepatients was Hopalong, who fretted and fumed at his helplessness, whichretarded his recovery. But at last the day came when he was fit forthe saddle again, and he gave notice of his joy in whoops and forthwithannounced that he was entitled to a holiday; and Buck had not the heartto refuse him. 

So he started forth in his quest of peace and pleasure, but instead hadfound only trouble and had been forced to leave his card at almost everyplace he had visited. 

There was that affair in Red Hot Gulch, Colorado, where, under pressure, he had invested sundry pieces of lead in the persons of severalobstreperous citizens and then had paced the zealous and excitablesheriff to the state line. 

He next was noticed in Cheyenne, where his deformity was vividlydwelt upon, to the extent of six words, by one Tarantula Charley, theaforesaid Charley not being able to proceed to greater length on accountof heart failure. As Charley had been a ubiquitous nuisance, thosepresent availed themselves of the opportunity offered by Hopalong toindulge in a free drink. 

Laramie was his next stopping place, and shortly after his arrival hewas requested to sing and dance by a local terror, who informed allpresent that he was the only seventeen-buttoned rattlesnake in the cowcountry. Hopalong, hurt and indignant at being treated like a commontenderfoot, promptly knocked the terror down. After he had irrigatedseveral square feet of parched throats belonging to the audience heagain took up his journey and spent a day at Denver, where he managed toavoid any further trouble. 

Santa Fe loomed up before him several days later and he entered itshortly before noon. At this time the old Spanish city was a bundle ofhigh-strung nerves, and certain parts of it were calculated to furnishany and all kinds of excitement except revival meetings and churchfairs. Hopalong straddled a lively nerve before he had been in the cityan hour. Two local bad men, Slim Travennes and Tex Ewalt, desiring toestablish the fact that they were roaring prairie fires, attempted toconsume the placid and innocent stranger as he limped across the plazain search of a game of draw poker at the Black Hills Emporium, with theresult that they needed repairs, to the chagrin and disgust of theirimmediate acquaintances, who endeavored to drown their mortificationand sorrow in rapid but somewhat wild gun play, and soon remembered thatthey had pressing engagements elsewhere. 

Hopalong reloaded his guns and proceeded to the Emporium, where he founda game all prepared for him in every sense of the word. On the thirddeal he objected to the way in which the dealer manipulated the cards, and when the smoke cleared away he was the only occupant of the room, except a dog belonging to the bartender that had intercepted a straybullet. 

Hunting up the owner of the hound, he apologized for being the indirectcause of the animal's death, deposited a sum of Mexican dollars inthat gentleman's palm and went on his way to Alameda, which he enteredshortly after dark, and where an insult, simmering in its uncalled-forvenom, met him as he limped across the floor of the local dispensary onhis way to the bar. There was no time for verbal argument and precedenthad established the manner of his reply, and his repartee was as quickas light and most effective. Having resented the epithets he gave hisattention to the occupants of the room. 

Smoke drifted over the table in an agitated cloud and dribbled lazilyupward from the muzzle of his six-shooter, while he looked searchinglyat those around him. Strained and eager faces peered at his opponent, who was sliding slowly forward in his chair, and for the length of aminute no sound but the guarded breathing of the onlookers could beheard. This was broken by a nervous cough from the rear of the room, andthe faces assumed their ordinary nonchalant expressions, their ruggedlines heavily shadowed in the light of the flickering oil lamps, whilethe shuffling of cards and the clink of silver became audible. HopalongCassidy had objected to insulting remarks about his affliction. 

Hopalong was very sensitive about his crippled leg and was alwaysprompt to resent any scorn or curiosity directed at it, especiallywhen emanating from strangers. A young man of twenty-three years, whensurrounded by nearly perfect specimens of physical manhood, is apt tobe painfully self-conscious of any such defect, and it reacted on hisnature at times, even though he was well-known for his happy-go-luckydisposition and playfulness. He consoled himself with the knowledgethat what he lost in symmetry was more than balanced by the celerityand certainty of his gun hand, which was right or left, or both, as theoccasion demanded. 

Several hours later, as his luck was vacillating, he felt a heavy handon his shoulder, and was overjoyed at seeing Buck and Red, the lattergrinning as only Red could grin, and he withdrew from the game to enjoyhis good fortune. 

While Hopalong had been wandering over the country the two friends hadbeen hunting for him and had traced him successfully, that being dueto the trail he had blazed with his six-shooters. This they hadaccomplished without harm to themselves, as those of whom they inquiredthought that they must want Hopalong "bad, " and cheerfully gave theinformation required. 

They had started out more for the purpose of accompanying him forpleasure, but that had changed to an urgent necessity in the followingmanner:

While on the way from Denver to Santa Fe they had met Pete Willis of theThree Triangle, a ranch that adjoined their own, and they paused to passthe compliments of the season. 

"Purty far from th' grub wagon, Pie, " remarked Buck. 

"Oh, I'm only goin' to Denver, " responded Pie. 

"Purty hot, " suggested Red. 

"She shore is. Seen anybody yu knows?" Pie asked. 

"One or two--Billy of th' Star Crescent an' Panhandle Lukins, " answeredBuck. 

"That so? Panhandle's goin' to punch for us next year. I'll hunt him up. I heard down south of Albuquerque that Thirsty Jones an' his brothersare lookin' for trouble, " offered Pie. 

"Yah! They ain't lookin' for no trouble--they just goes aroundblowin' off. Trouble? Why, they don't know what she is, " remarked Redcontemptuously. 

"Well, they's been dodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' if thatain't trouble I don't know what is, " said Pie. 

"It shore is, an' hard to dodge, " acquiesced Buck. 

"Well, I has to amble. Is Panhandle in Denver? Yes? I calculates ashow me an' him'll buck th' tiger for a whirl--he's shore lucky. Well, solong, " said Pie as he moved on. 

"So long, " responded the two. 

"Hey, wait a minute, " yelled Pie after he had ridden a hundred yards. "If yu sees Hopalong yu might tell him that th' Joneses are goin' tohunt him up when they gits to Albuquerque. They's shore sore on him. 'Tain't none of my funeral, only they ain't always a-carin' how theygoes after a feller. So long, " and soon he was a cloud of dust on thehorizon. 

"Trouble!" snorted Red; "well, between dodgin' Harris an' huntin'Hopalong I reckons they'll shore find her. " Then to himself he murmured, "Funny how everythin' comes his way. "

"That's gospel shore enough, but, as Pie said, they ain't a whole lotparticular as how they deal th' cards. We better get a move on an' findthat ornery little cuss, " replied Buck. 

"O. K. , only I ain't losin' no sleep about Hoppy. His gun's too livelyfor me to do any worryin', " asserted Red. 

"They'll get lynched some time, shore, " declared Buck. 

"Not if they find Hoppy, " grimly replied Red. 

They tore through Santa Fe, only stopping long enough to wet theirthroats, and after several hours of hard riding entered Alameda, wherethey found Hopalong in the manner narrated. 

After some time the three left the room and headed for Albuquerque, twelve miles to the south. At ten o'clock they dismounted before theNugget and Rope, an unpainted wooden building supposed to be aclever combination of barroom, dance and gambling hall and hotel. Thecleverness lay in the man who could find the hotel part. 

CHAPTER VII. The Open Door

The proprietor of the Nugget and Rope, a German named Baum, not beingtroubled with police rules, kept the door wide open for the purposeof inviting trade, a proceeding not to the liking of his patrons forobvious reasons. Probably not one man in ten was fortunate enough tohave no one "looking for him, " and the lighted interior assured goodhunting to any one in the dark street. He was continually opening thedoor, which every newcomer promptly and forcibly slammed shut. When hesaw men walk across the room for the express purpose of slamming it hebegan to cherish the idea that there was a conspiracy on foot to angerhim and thus force him to bring about his own death. 

After the door had been slammed three times in one evening by one man, the last slam being so forcible as to shake two bottles from the shelfand to crack the door itself, he became positive that his suspicionswere correct, and so was very careful to smile and take it as a joke. Finally, wearied by his vain efforts to keep it open and fearing for thedoor, he hit upon a scheme, the brilliancy of which inflated his chestand gave him the appearance of a prize-winning bantam. When his patronsstrolled in that night there was no door to slam, as it lay behind thebar. 

When Buck and Red entered, closely followed by Hopalong, they elbowedtheir way to the rear of the room, where they could see before beingseen. As yet they had said nothing to Hopalong about Pie's warning andwere debating in their minds whether they should do so or not, whenHopalong interrupted their thoughts by laughing. They looked up and henodded toward the front, where they saw that anxious eyes from all partsof the room were focused on the open door. Then they noticed that it hadbeen removed. 

The air of semi-hostile, semi-anxious inquiry of the patrons and thesmile of satisfaction covering the face of Baum appealed to them as themost ludicrous sight their eyes had seen for months, and they leanedback and roared with laughter, thus calling forth sundry looks ofdisapproval from the innocent causes of their merriment. But they weretoo well known in Albuquerque to allow the disapproval to approach aserious end, and finally, as the humorous side of the situation dawnedon the crowd, they joined in the laugh and all went merrily. 

At the psychologic moment some one shouted for a dance and thesuggestion met with uproarious approval. At that moment Harris, thesheriff, came in and volunteered to supply the necessary music if thecrowd would pay the fine against a straying fiddler he had corraled theday before. A hat was quickly passed and a sum was realized which wouldpay several fines to come and Harris departed for the music. 

A chair was placed on the bar for the musician and, to the tune of "OldDan Tucker" and an assortment of similar airs, the board floor shookand trembled. It was a comical sight and Hopalong, the only wallflowerbesides Baum and the sheriff, laughed until he became weak. Cow punchersplay as they work, hard and earnestly, and there was plenty of action. Sombreros flapped like huge wings and the baggy chaps looked like small, distorted balloons. 

The Virginia reel was a marvel of supple, exaggerated grace and thequadrille looked like a free-for-all for unbroken colts. The honorof prompter was conferred upon the sheriff, and he gravely called thechanges as they were usually called in that section of the country:

 "Oh, th' ladies trail in An' th' gents trail out, An' all stampede down th' middle. If yu ain't got th' tin Yu can dance an' shout, But yu must keep up with th' fiddle. "

As the dance waxed faster and the dancers grew hotter Hopalong, feeling lonesome because he wouldn't face ridicule, even if it was notexpressed, went over and stood by the sheriff. He and Harris were goodfriends, for he had received the wound that crippled him in saving thesheriff from assassination. Harris killed the man who had fired thatshot, and from this episode on the burning desert grew a friendship thatwas as strong as their own natures. 

Harris was very well liked by the majority and feared by the rest, forhe was a square man and the best sheriff the county had ever known. Quiet and unassuming, small of stature and with a kind word for everyone, he was a universal favorite among the better class of citizens. Quick as a flash and unerring in his shooting, he was a nightmare to the"bad men. " No profane word had ever been known to leave his lips, andhe was the possessor of a widespread reputation for generosity. Hisface was naturally frank and open; but when his eyes narrowed withdetermination it became blank and cold. When he saw his young friendsidle over to him he smiled and nodded a hearty welcome. 

"They's shore cuttin' her loose, " remarked Hopalong. 

"First two pairs forward an' back!--they shore is, " responded theprompter. 

"Who's th' gent playin' lady to Buck?" Queried Hopalong. 

"Forward again an' ladies change!--Billy Jordan. "

Hopalong watched the couple until they swung around and then he laughedsilently. "Buck's got too many feet, " he seriously remarked to hisfriend. 

"Swing th' girl yu loves th' best!--he ain't lonesome, look at that--"

Two shots rang out in quick succession and Harris stumbled, wheeled andpitched forward on his face as Hopalong's sombrero spun across hisbody. For a second there was an intense silence, heavy, strainedand sickening. Then a roar broke forth and the crowd of frenziedmerry-makers, headed by Hopalong, poured out into the street and spreadout to search the town. As daylight dawned the searchers began tostraggle back with the same report of failure. Buck and Red met on thestreet near the door and each looked questioningly at the other. Eachshook his head and looked around, their fingers toying absentmindedly attheir belts. Finally Buck cleared his throat and remarked casually, "Mebby he's following 'em. "

Red nodded and they went over toward their horses. As they werehesitating which route to take, Billy Jordan came up. 

"Mebby yu'd like to see yore pardner--he's out by Buzzard's Spring. We'lltake care of him, " jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the saloonwhere Harris's body lay. "And we'll all git th' others later. Theycain't git away for long. "

Buck and Red nodded and headed for Buzzard's Spring. As they neared thewater hole they saw Hopalong sitting on a rock, his head resting in onehand while the other hung loosely from his knee. He did not noticethem when they arrived, and with a ready tact they sat quietly on theirhorses and looked in every direction except toward him. The sun becamea ball of molten fire and the sand flies annoyed them incessantly, butstill 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. Hewalked over to his horse and, leaping into the saddle, turned and facedhis friends. "Yu old sons-of-guns, " he said. They looked sheepish andnodded negatively in answer to the look of inquiry in his eyes. "Theyain't got 'em yet, " remarked Red slowly. Hopalong straightened up, hiseyes narrowed and his face became hard and resolute as he led the wayback 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 beendodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' they was huntin' Hopalong. Ever since we had to kill their brother in Buckskin they has beenyappin' as how they was goin' to wipe us out. Hopalong an' Harris wasstandin' clost together an' they tried for both. They shot twice, onefor Harris an' one for Hopalong, an' what more do yu want?"

"It shore looks thataway, Buck, " replied Red, biting into a huge plug oftobacco which he produced from his chaps. "Anyhow, they wouldn't be noloss if they didn't. Member what Pie said?"

Hopalong looked straight ahead, and when he spoke the words sounded asthough he had bitten them off: "Yore right, Buck, but I gits first tryat Thirsty. He's my meat an' I'll plug th' fellow what says he ain't. Damn him!"

The others replied by applying their spurs, and in a short time theydismounted before the Nugget and Rope. Thirsty wouldn't have a chance tonot care how he dealt the cards. 

Buck and Red moved quickly through the crowd, speaking fast andearnestly. When they returned to where they had left their friend theysaw him half a block away and they followed slowly, one on either sideof the street. There would be no bullets in his back if they knew whatthey were about, and they usually did. 

As Hopalong neared the corner, Thirsty and his two brothers turned itand saw him. Thirsty said something in a low voice, and the other twowalked across the street and disappeared behind the store. When assuredthat they were secure, Thirsty walked up to a huge boulder on the sideof the street farthest from the store and turned and faced his enemy, who approached rapidly until about five paces away, when he slowed upand finally stopped. 

For a number of seconds they sized each other up, Hopalong quietand deliberate with a deadly hatred; Thirsty pale and furtive with asensation hitherto unknown to him. It was Right meeting Wrong, and Wronglost confidence. Often had Thirsty Jones looked death in the face andlaughed, but there was something in Hopalong's eyes that made his fleshcreep. 

He glanced quickly past his foe and took in the scene with one flash ofhis eyes. There was the crowd, eager, expectant, scowling. There wereBuck and Red, each lounging against a boulder, Buck on his right, Redon his left. Before him stood the only man he had ever feared. Hopalongshifted his feet and Thirsty, coming to himself with a start, smiled. His nerve had been shaken, but he was master of himself once more. 

"Well!" he snarled, scowling. 

Hopalong made no response, but stared him in the eyes. 

Thirsty expected action, and the deadly quiet of his enemy oppressedhim. He stared in turn, but the insistent searching of his opponent'seyes scorched him and he shifted his gaze to Hopalong's neck. 

"Well!" he repeated uneasily. 

"Did yu have a nice time at th' dance last night?" Asked Hopalong, stillsearching the face before him. 

"Was there a dance? I was over in Alameda, " replied Thirsty shortly. 

"Ya-as, there was a dance, an' yu can shoot purty durn far if yu was inAlameda, " responded Hopalong, his voice low and monotonous. 

Thirsty shifted his feet and glanced around. Buck and Red were stilllounging against their bowlders and apparently were not paying anyattention to the proceedings. His fickle nerve came back again, forhe knew he would receive fair play. So he faced Hopalong once more andregarded him with a cynical smile. 

"Yu seems to worry a whole lot about me. Is it because yu has atender feelin', or because it's none of yore blame business?" He askedaggressively. 

Hopalong paled with sudden anger, but controlled himself. 

"It's because yu murdered Harris, " he replied. 

"Shoo! An' how does yu figger it out?" Asked Thirsty, jauntily. 

"He was huntin' yu hard an' yu thought yu'd stop it, so yu came in tolay for him. When yu saw me an' him together yu saw di' chance towipe out another score. That's how I figger it out, " replied Hopalongquietly. 

"Yore a reg'lar 'tective, ain't yu?" Thirsty asked ironically. 

"I've got common sense, " responded Hopalong. 

"Yu has? Yu better tell th' rest that, too, " replied Thirsty. 

"I know yu shot Harris, an' yu can't get out of it by makin' funnyremarks. Anyhow, yu won't be much loss, an' th' stage company'll feelbetter, too. "

"Shoo! An' suppose I did shoot him, I done a good job, didn't I?"

"Yu did the worst job yu could do, yu highway robber, " softly saidHopalong, at the same time moving nearer. "Harris knew yu stopped th'stage last month, an' that's why yu've been dodgin' him. "

"Yore a liar!" shouted Thirsty, reaching for his gun. 

The movement was fatal, for before he could draw, the Colt in Hopalong'sholster leaped out and flashed from its owner's hip and Thirsty fellsideways, face down in the dust of the street. 

Hopalong started toward the fallen man, but as he did so a shot rang outfrom behind the store and he pitched forward, stumbled and rolled behindthe bowlder. As he stumbled his left hand streaked to his hip, and whenhe fell he had a gun in each hand. 

As he disappeared from sight Goodeye and Bill Jones stepped from behindthe store and started to run away. Not able to resist the temptation tolook again, they stopped and turned and Bill laughed. 

"Easy as sin, " he said. 

"Run, yu fool--Red an' Buck'll be here. Want to git plugged?" shoutedGoodeye angrily. 

They turned and started for a group of ponies twenty yards away, and asthey leaped into the saddles two shots were fired from the street. Asthe reports died away Buck and Red turned the corner of the store, Coltsin hand, and, checking their rush as they saw the saddles emptied, theyturned toward the street and saw Hopalong, with blood oozing from anabrasion on his cheek, sitting up cross-legged, with each hand holding agun, from which came thin wisps of smoke. 

"Th' son-of-a-gun!" cried Buck, proud and delighted. 

"Th' son-of-a-gun!" echoed Red, grinning. 

CHAPTER VIII. Hopalong Keeps His Word

The waters of the Rio Grande slid placidly toward the Gulf, the hot sunbranding the sleepy waters with streaks of molten fire. To the northarose from the gray sandy plain the Quitman Mountains, and beyond themlay Bass Ca on. From the latter emerged a solitary figure astride abroncho, and as he ascended the topmost rise he glanced below him at theplacid stream and beyond it into Mexico. As he sat quietly in his saddlehe smiled and laughed gently to himself. The trail he had just followedhad been replete with trouble which had suited the state of his mindand he now felt humorous, having cleaned up a pressing debt with hissix-shooter. Surely there ought to be a mild sort of excitement in theland he faced, something picturesque and out of the ordinary. Thiswas to be the finishing touch to his trip, and he had left his twocompanions at Albuquerque in order that he might have to himself allthat he could find. 

Not many miles to the south of him lay the town which had been therendezvous of Tamale Jose, whose weakness had been a liking for otherpeople's cattle. Well he remembered his first man hunt: the discoveryof the theft, the trail and pursuit and--the ending. He was scarcelyeighteen years of age when that event took place, and the wisdom he hadabsorbed then had stood him in good stead many times since. He had evennow a touch of pride at the recollection how, when his older companionshad failed to get Tamale Jose, he with his undeveloped strategy hadgained that end. The fight would never be forgotten, as it was hisfirst, and no sight of wounds would ever affect him as did those of RedConnors as he lay huddled up in the dark corner of that old adobe hut. 

He came to himself and laughed again as he thought of Carmencita, thefirst girl he had ever known--and the last. With a boy's impetuosity hehad wooed her in a manner far different from that of the peons who sangbeneath her window and talked to her mother. He had boldly scaled thewall and did his courting in her house, trusting to luck and to hisown ability to avoid being seen. No hidden meaning lay in his words;he spoke from his heart and with no concealment. And he remembered thetreachery that had forced him, fighting, to the camp of his outfit; andwhen he had returned with his friends she had disappeared. 

To this day he hated that mud-walled convent and those sisters whoso easily forgot how to talk. The fragrance of the old days wrappedthemselves around him, and although he had ceased to pine for hisblack-eyed Carmencita-well, it would be nice if he chanced to see heragain. Spurring his mount into an easy canter he swept down to andacross the river, fording it where he had crossed it when pursuingTamale Jose. 

The town lay indolent under the Mexican night, and the strumming ofguitars and the tinkle of spurs and tiny bells softly echoed fromseveral houses. The convent of St. Maria lay indistinct in its heavyshadows and the little church farther up the dusty street showed dimlights in its stained windows. Off to the north became audible therhythmic beat of a horse and soon a cowboy swept past the convent with amocking bow. 

He clattered across the stone-paved plaza and threw his mount backon its haunches as he stopped before a house. Glancing around anddetermining to find out a few facts as soon as possible, he rode upto the low door and pounded upon it with the butt of his Colt. Afterwaiting for possibly half a minute and receiving no response he hammereda tune upon it with two Colts and had the satisfaction of seeing half ascore of heads protrude from the windows in the nearby houses. 

"If I could scare up another gun I might get th' whole blamed town up, "he grumbled whimsically, and fell on the door with another tune. 

"Who is it?" came from within. The voice was distinctly feminine andHopalong winked to himself in congratulation. 

"Me, " he replied, twirling his fingers from his nose at the curious, forgetting that the darkness hid his actions from sight. 

"Yes, I know; but who is 'me'?" Came from the house. 

"Ain't I a fool!" he complained to himself, and raising his voice hereplied coaxingly, "Open th' door a bit an' see. Are yu Carmencita?"

"O-o-o! but you must tell me who it is first. "

"Mr. Cassidy, " he replied, flushing at the 'mister, ' "an' I wants to seeCarmencita. "

"Carmencita who?" teasingly came from behind the door. Hopalongscratched his head. "Gee, yu've roped me--I suppose she has got anotherhandle. Oh, yu know--she used to live here about seven years back. Shehad great big black eyes, pretty cheeks an' a mouth that 'ud stampedeanybody. Don't yu know now? She was about so high, " holding out hishands in the darkness. 

The door opened a trifle on a chain and Hopalong peered eagerly forward. 

"Ah, it is you, the brave Americano! You must go away quick or you willmeet with harm. Manuel is awfully jealous and he will kill you! Go atonce, please!"

Hopalong pulled at the half-hearted down upon his lip and laughedsoftly. Then he slid the guns back in their holsters and felt for hissombrero. 

"Manuel wants to see me first, Star Eyes. "

"No! no!" she replied, stamping upon the floor vehemently. "You must gonow--at once!"

"I'd shore look nice hittin' th' trail because Manuel Somebody wantsto get hurt, wouldn't I? Don't yu remember how I used to shinny up thishere wall an' skin th' cat gettin' through that hole up there what yusaid was a window? Ah, come on an' open th' door--I'd shore like to seeyu again!" pleaded the irrepressible. 

"No! no! Go away. Oh, won't you please go away!"

Hopalong sighed audibly and turned his horse. As he did so he heard thedoor open and a sigh reached his ears. He wheeled like a flash and foundthe door closed again on its chain. A laugh of delight came from behindit. 

"Come out, please!--just for a minute, " he begged, wishing that he wasbrave enough to smash the door to splinters and grab her. 

"If I do, will you go away?" Asked the girl. "Oh, what will Manuel sayif he comes? And all those people, they'll tell him!"

"Hey, yu!" shouted Hopalong, brandishing his Colts at the protrudingheads. "Git scarce! I'll shore plug th' last one in!" Then he laughed atthe sudden vanishing. 

The door slowly opened and Carmencita, fat and drowsy, wobbled outto him. Hopalong's feelings were interfering with his breathing as hesurveyed her. "Oh, yu shore are mistaken, Mrs. Carmencita. I wants tosee yore daughter!"

"Ah, you have forgotten the little Carmencita who used to look for you. Like all the men, you have forgotten, " she cooed reproachfully. Then herfear predominated again and she cried, "Oh, if my husband should see menow!"

Hopalong mastered his astonishment and bowed. He had a desire to ridemadly into the Rio Grande and collect his senses. 

"Yu are right--this is too dangerous--I'll amble on some, " he repliedhastily. Under his breath he prayed that the outfit would never learnof this. He turned his horse and rode slowly up the street as the doorclosed. 

Rounding the corner he heard a soft footfall, and swerving in his saddlehe turned and struck with all his might in the face of a man who leapedat him, at the same time grasping the uplifted wrist with his otherhand. A curse and the tinkle of thin steel on the pavement accompaniedthe fall of his opponent. Bending down from his saddle he picked up theweapon and the next minute the enraged assassin was staring into theunwavering and, to him, growing muzzle of a Colt's . 45. 

"Yu shore had a bum teacher. Don't yu know better'n to push it in? An'me a cowpuncher, too! I'm most grieved at yore conduct--it shows youdon't appreciate cow-wrastlers. This is safer, " he remarked, throwingthe stiletto through the air and into a door, where it rang out angrilyand quivered. "I don't know as I wants to ventilate yu; we mostlypoisons coyotes up my way, " he added. Then a thought struck him. "Yumust be that dear Manuel I've been hearin' so much about?"

A snarl was the only reply and Hopalong grinned. 

"Yu shore ain't got no call to go loco that way, none whatever. I don'twant yore Carmencita. I only called to say hulloo, " responded Hopalong, his sympathies being aroused for the wounded man before him from hisvivid recollection of the woman who had opened the door. 

"Yah!" snarled Manuel. "You wants to poison my little bird. You withyour fair hair and your cursed swagger!"

The six-shooter tentatively expanded and stopped six inches from theMexican's nose. "Yu wants to ride easy, hombre. I ain't no angel, but Idon't poison no woman; an' don't yu amble off with th' idea in yore headthat she wants to be poisoned. Why, she near stuck a knife in me!" helied. 

The Mexican's face brightened somewhat, but it would take more than thatto wipe out the insult of the blow. The horse became restless, and whenHopalong 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 awidow. Sabe?"

The hate on the Mexican's face redoubled and he took a short stepforward, but stopped when the muzzle of the Colt kissed his nose. He wasthe brother of Tamale Jose. As he backed away from the cool touch ofthe weapon he thought out swiftly his revenge. Some of his brother'sold companions were at that moment drinking mescal in a saloon down thestreet, and they would be glad to see this Americano die. He glancedpast his house at the saloon and Hopalong misconstrued his thoughts. 

"Shore, go home. I'll just circulate around some for exercise. No hardfeelings, only yu better throw it next time, " he said as he backed awayand rode off. Manuel went down the street and then ran into the saloon, where he caused an uproar. 

Hopalong rode to the end of the plaza and tried to sing, but it was adismal failure. Then he felt thirsty and wondered why he hadn't thoughtof it before. Turning his horse and seeing the saloon he rode up to itand in, lying flat on the animal's neck to avoid being swept off by thedoor frame. His entrance scared white some half a dozen loungers, whoimmediately sprang up in a decidedly hostile manner. Hopalong's Coltspeeped over the ears of his horse and he backed into a corner near thebar. 

"One, two, three--now, altogether, breathe! Yu acts like yu never saw areal puncher afore. All th' same, " he remarked, nodding at severalof the crowd, "I've seen yu afore. Yu are th' gents with th' hot-footget-a-way that vamoosed when we got Tamale. "

Curses were flung at him and only the humorous mood he was in savedtrouble. One, bolder than the rest, spoke up: "The senor will not seeany 'hot-foot get-a-way, ' as he calls it, now! The senor was not wise togo so far away from his friends!"'

Hopalong looked at the speaker and a quizzical grin slowly spread overhis face. "They'll shore feel glad when I tells them yu was askin' for'em. But didn't yu see too much of 'em once, or was yu poundin' leatherin the other direction? Yu don't want to worry none about me--an' if yudon't get yore hands closter to yore neck they'll be heck to pay! There, that's more like home, " he remarked, nodding assurance. 

Reaching over he grasped a bottle and poured out a drink, his Coltslipping from his hand and dangling from his wrist by a thong. As theweapon started to fall several of the audience involuntarily moved as ifto pick it up. Hopalong noticed this and paused with the glass halfway to his lips. "Don't bother yoreselves none; I can git it again, " hesaid, tossing off the liquor. 

"Wow! Holy smoke!" he yelled. "This ain't drink! Sufferin' coyotes, nobody can accuse yu of sellin' liquor! Did yu make this all byyoreself?" He asked incredulously of the proprietor, who didn't knowwhether to run or to pray. Then he noticed that the crowd was spreadingout and his Colts again became the center of interest. 

"Yu with th' lovely face, sit down!" he ordered as the person addressedwas gliding toward the door. "I ain't a-goin' to let yu pot me from th'street. Th' first man who tries to get scarce will stop somethin' hot. An' yu all better sit down, " he suggested, sweeping them with his guns. One man, more obdurate than the rest, was slow in complying and Hopalongsent a bullet through the top of his high sombrero, which had a mostgratifying effect. 

"You'll regret this!" hissed a man in the rear, and a murmur ofassent arose. Some one stirred slightly in searching for a weapon andimmediately a blazing Colt froze him into a statue. 

"Yu shore looks funny; eeny, meeny, miny, mo, " counted off the daringhorseman; "move a bit an' off yu go, " he finished. Then his face brokeout in another grin as he thought of more enjoyment. 

"That there gent on th' left, " he said, pointing out with a gun the manhe meant. "Yu sing us a song. Sing a nice little song. "

As the object of his remarks remained mute he let his thumbostentatiously slide back with the hammer of the gun under it. "Sing!Quick!" The man sang. 

As Hopalong leaned forward to say something a stiletto flashed past hisneck and crashed into the bottle beside him. The echo of the crash wasmerged into a report as Hopalong fired from his waist. Then he backedout into the Street and, wheeling, galloped across the plaza and againfaced the saloon. A flash split the darkness and a bullet hummed overhis head and thudded into an adobe wall at his back. Another shot and hereplied, aiming at the flash. 

From down the Street came the sound of a window opening and he promptlycaused it to close again. Several more windows opened and hastilyclosed, and he rode slowly toward the far end of the plaza. As he facedthe saloon once more he heard a command to throw up his hands and sawthe glint of a gun, held by a man who wore the insignia of sheriff. Hopalong complied, but as his hands went up two spurts of fire shotforth and the sheriff dropped his weapon, reeled and sat down. Hopalongrode over to him and swinging down, picked up the gun and looked theofficer over. 

"Shoo, yu'll be all right soon--yore only plugged in th' arms, " heremarked as he glanced up the street. Shadowy forms were gliding fromcover to cover and he immediately caused consternation among them byhis accuracy. "Ain't it sad?" He complained to the wounded man. "I neverstarts out but what somebody makes me shoot 'em. Came down here to seea girl an' find she's married. Then when I moves on peaceable--like herhusband makes me hit him. Then I wants a drink an' he goes an' fans aknife at me, an' me just teachin' him how! Then yu has to come along an'make more trouble". 

"Now look at them fools over there, " he said, pointing at a dark shadowsome fifty paces off. "They're pattin' their backs because I don'tsee 'em, an' if I hurts them they'll git mad. Guess I'll make 'em dustalong, " he added, shooting into the spot. A howl went up and two men ranaway at top speed. 

The sheriff nodded his sympathy and spoke. "I reckons you had bettergive up. You can't get away. Every house, every corner and shadow holdsa man. You are a brave man, but, as you say, unfortunate. Better help meup and come with me--they'll tear you to pieces. "

"Shore I'll help yu up--I ain't got no grudge against nobody. But myfriends know where I am an' they'll come down here an' raise a ructionif I don't show up. So, if it's all th' same to you, I'll be amblingright along, " he said as he helped the sheriff to his feet. 

"Have you any objections to telling me your name?" Asked the sheriff ashe looked himself over. 

"None whatever, " answered Hopalong heartily. "I'm Hopalong Cassidy ofth' Bar 20, Texas. "

"You don't surprise me--I've heard of you, " replied the sheriff wearily. "You are the man who killed Tamale Jose, whom I hunted for unceasingly. I found him when you had left and I got the reward. Come again sometime and I'll divide with you; two hundred and fifty dollars, " he addedcraftily. 

"I shore will, but I don't want no money, " replied Hopalong as he turnedaway. "Adios, senor, " he called back. 

"Adios, " replied the sheriff as he kicked a nearby door for assistance. 

The cow-pony tied itself up in knots as it pounded down the streettoward the trail, and although he was fired on he swung into the dustytrail with a song on his lips. Several hours later he stood dripping weton the American side of the Rio Grande and shouted advice to a score ofMexican cavalrymen on the opposite bank. Then he slowly picked his waytoward El Paso for a game at Faro Dan's. 

The sheriff sat in his easy chair one night some three weeks later, gravely engaged in rolling a cigarette. His arms were practically well, the wounds being in the fleshy parts. He was a philosopher and wasdisposed to take things easy, which accounted for his being in hisofficial position for fifteen years. A gentleman at the core, he waswell educated and had visited a goodly portion of the world. A book ofHorace lay open on his knees and on the table at his side lay a shiningnew revolver, Hopalong having carried off his former weapon. He readaloud several lines and in reaching for a light for his cigarettenoticed the new six-shooter. His mind leaped from Horace to Hopalong, and he smiled grimly at the latter's promise to call. 

Glancing up, his eyes fell on a poster which conveyed the information inSpanish and in English that there was offered

 +--------------------------------------+ | | FIVE HUNDRED PESOS | |

 REWARD

 For Hopalong Cassidy, of the Ranch

 | | Known as the Bar-20, Texas, U. S. A. | |

 +--------------------------------------+

and which gave a good description of that gentleman. 

Sighing for the five hundred, he again took up his book and was lost inits pages when he heard a knock, rather low and timid. Wearily layingaside his reading, he strode to the door, expecting to hear a lengthycomplaint from one of his townsmen. As he threw the door wide open thelight streamed out and lighted up a revolver and behind it the beamingface of a cowboy, who grinned. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated the sheriff, starting back inamazement. 

"Don't say that, sheriff; you've got lots of time to reform, " replied ahumorous voice. "How's th' wings?"

"Almost well: you were considerate, " responded the sheriff. "Let's goin--somebody might see me out here an' get into trouble, " suggested thevisitor, placing his foot on the sill. 

"Certainly--pardon my discourtesy, " said the sheriff. "You see, Iwasn't expecting you to-night, " he explained, thinking of theelaborate preparations that he would have gone to if he had thought theirrepressible would call. 

"Well, I was down this way, an' seeing as how I had promised to dropin I just natchurally dropped, " replied Hopalong as he took the chairproffered by his host. 

After talking awhile on everything and nothing the sheriff coughed andlooked uneasily at his guest. 

"Mr. Cassidy, I am sorry you called, for I like men of your energy andcourage and I very much dislike to arrest you, " remarked the sheriff. "Of course you understand that you are under arrest, " he added withanxiety. 

"Who, me?" Asked Hopalong with a rising inflection. 

"Most assuredly, " breathed the sheriff. 

"Why, this is the first time I ever heard anything about it, " repliedthe astonished cow-puncher. "I'm an American--don't that make anydifference?"

"Not in this case, I'm afraid. You see, it's for manslaughter. "

"Well, don't that beat th' devil, now?" Said Hopalong. He felt sorrythat a citizen of the glorious United States should be prey fortroublesome sheriffs, but he was sure that his duty to Texas called uponhim never to submit to arrest at the hands of a Mexican. Rememberingthe Alamo, and still behind his Colt, he reached over and took up theshining weapon from the table and snapped it open on his knee. Afterplacing the cartridges in his pocket he tossed the gun over on the bedand, reaching inside his shirt, drew out another and threw it after thefirst. 

"That's yore gun; I forgot to leave it, " he said, apologetically. "Anyhow yu needs two, " he added. 

Then he glanced around the room, noticed the poster and walked overand read it. A full swift sweep of his gloved hand tore it from itsfastenings and crammed it under his belt. The glimmer of anger in hiseyes gave way as he realized that his head was worth a definite price, and he smiled at what the boys would say when he showed it to them. Planting his feet far apart and placing his arms akimbo he faced hishost in grim defiance. 

"Got any more of these?" He inquired, placing his hand on the posterunder his belt. 

"Several, " replied the sheriff. 

"Trot 'em out, " ordered Hopalong shortly. 

The sheriff sighed, stretched and went over to a shelf, from which hetook a bundle of the articles in question. Turning slowly he looked atthe puncher and handed them to him. 

"I reckons they's all over this here town, " remarked Hopalong. 

"They are, and you may never see Texas again. "

"So? Well, yu tell yore most particular friends that the job is worthfive thousand, and that it will take so many to do it that when th'mazuma is divided up it won't buy a meal. There's only one man in thiscountry tonight that can earn that money, an' that's me, " said thepuncher. "An' I don't need it, " he added, smiling. 

"But you are my prisoner--you are under arrest, " enlightened the sheriff, rolling another cigarette. The sheriff spoke as if asking a question. Never before had five hundred dollars been so close at hand and yet sounobtainable. It was like having a check-book but no bank account. 

"I'm shore sorry to treat yu mean, " remarked Hopalong, "but I was paid amonth in advance an' I'll have to go back an' earn it. "

"You can--if you say that you will return, " replied the sherifftentatively. The sheriff meant what he said and for the moment hadforgotten that he was powerless and was not the one to make terms. 

Hopalong was amazed and for a time his ideas of Mexicans staggered underthe blow. Then he smiled sympathetically as he realized that he faced awhite man. 

"Never like to promise nothin', " he replied. "I might get plugged, orsomething might happen that wouldn't let me. " Then his face lighted upas a thought came to him. "Say, I'll cut di' cards with yu to see if Icomes back or not. "

The sheriff leaned back and gazed at the cool youngster before him. A smile of satisfaction, partly at the self-reliance of his guest andpartly at the novelty of his situation, spread over his face. He reachedfor a pack of Mexican cards and laughed. "Man! You're a cool one--I'll doit. What do you call?"

"Red, " answered Hopalong. 

The sheriff slowly raised his hand and revealed the ace of hearts. Hopalong leaned back and laughed, at the same time taking from hispocket the six extracted cartridges. Arising and going over to thebed he slipped them in the chambers of the new gun and then placed theloaded weapon at the sheriff's elbow. 

"Well, I reckon I'll amble, sheriff, " he said as he opened the door. "Ifyu ever sifts up my way drop in an' see me--th' boys'll give yu a goodtime. "

"Thanks; I will be glad to, " replied the sheriff. "You'll take yourpitcher to the well once too often some day, my friend. This courtesy, "glancing at the restored revolver, "might have cost you dearly. "

"Shoo! I did that once an' th' feller tried to use it, " repliedthe cowboy as he backed through the door. "Some people are awfullycareless, " he added. "So long--"

"So long, " replied the sheriff, wondering what sort of a man he had beenentertaining. 

The door closed softly and soon after a joyous whoop floated in fromthe Street. The sheriff toyed with the new gun and listened to the lowcaress of a distant guitar. 

"Well, don't that beat all?" He ejaculated. 

CHAPTER IX. The Advent of McAllister

The blazing sun shone pitilessly on an arid plain which was spottedwith dust-gray clumps of mesquite and thorny chaparral. Basking in theburning sand and alkali lay several Gila monsters, which raised theirheads and hissed with wide-open jaws as several faint, whip-like reportsechoed flatly over the desolate plain, showing that even they hadlearned that danger was associated with such sounds. 

Off to the north there became visible a cloud of dust and at intervalssomething swayed in it, something that rose and fell and then becamehidden again. Out of that cloud came sharp, splitting sounds, which werefaintly responded to by another and larger cloud in its rear. As it camenearer and finally swept past, the Gilas, to their terror, saw a madlypounding horse, and it carried a man. The latter turned in his saddleand raised a gun to his shoulder and the thunder that issued from itcaused the creeping audience to throw up their tails in sudden panic andbury themselves out of sight in the sand. 

The horse was only a broncho, its sides covered with hideous yellowspots, and on its near flank was a peculiar scar, the brand. Foamflecked from its crimsoned jaws and found a resting place on its sidesand on the hairy chaps of its rider. Sweat rolled and streamed from itsheaving flanks and was greedily sucked up by the drought-cursed alkali. Close to the rider's knee a bloody furrow ran forward and one of thebroncho's ears was torn and limp. The broncho was doing its best--itcould run at that pace until it dropped dead. Every ounce of strength itpossessed was put forth to bring those hind hoofs well in front ofthe forward ones and to send them pushing the sand behind in streamingclouds. The horse had done this same thing many times--when would itsmaster learn sense?

The man was typical in appearance with many of that broad land. Lithe, sinewy and bronzed by hard riding and hot suns, he sat in his Cheyennesaddle like a centaur, all his weight on the heavy, leather-guardedstirrups, his body rising in one magnificent straight line. A bleachedmoustache hid the thin lips, and a gray sombrero threw a heavy shadowacross his eyes. Around his neck and over his open, blue flannelshirt lay loosely a knotted silk kerchief, and on his thighs a pair ofopen-flapped holsters swung uneasily with their ivory handled burdens. He turned abruptly, raised his gun to his shoulder and fired, thenhe laughed recklessly and patted his mount, which responded tothe confident caress by lying flatter to the earth in a spurt ofheart-breaking speed. 

"I'll show 'em who they're trailin'. This is th' second time I'vestarted for Muddy Wells, an' I'm goin' to git there, too, for all th'Apaches out of Hades!"

To the south another cloud of dust rapidly approached and the riderscanned it closely, for it was directly in his path. As he watched ithe saw something wave and it was a sombrero! Shortly afterward a realcowboy yell reached his ears. He grinned and slid another cartridge inthe greasy, smoking barrel of the Sharp's and fired again at the cloudin his rear. Some few minutes later a whooping, bunched crowd of madlyriding cowboys thundered past him and he was recognized. 

"Hullo, Frenchy!" yelled the nearest one. "Comin' back?"

"Come on, McAllister!" shouted another; "we'll give 'em blazes!" Inresponse the straining broncho suddenly stiffened, bunched and slid onits haunches, wheeled and retraced its course. The rear cloud suddenlyscattered into many smaller ones and all swept off to the east. Therescuing band overtook them and, several hours later, when seated arounda table in Tom Lee's saloon, Muddy Wells, a count was taken of them, which was pleasing in its facts. 

"We was huntin' coyotes when we saw yu, " said a smiling puncher who wasknown as Salvation Carroll chiefly because he wasn't. 

"Yep! They've been stalkin' Tom's chickens, " supplied Waffles, thechampion poker player of the outfit. Tom Lee's chickens could whipanything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced accordingly. 

"Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state ofaffairs being deplorable. 

"She shore is!" answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought, headded, "Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?"

"'Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for thisplace--last time they chased me to Las Cruces. "

"That so?" Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. "Ain't they allus interferin', now? Anyhow, they're better'n coyotes. "

"They was purty well heeled, " suggested Tex, glancing at a bunch ofrepeating Winchesters of late model which lay stacked in a corner. "Charley here said he thought they was from th' way yore cayuse looked, didn't yu, Charley?" Charley nodded and filled his pipe. 

"'Pears like a feller can't amble around much nowadays without havin' tofight, " grumbled Lefty Allen, who usually went out of his way hunting uptrouble. 

"We're goin' to th' Hills as soon as our cookie turns up, " volunteeredTenspot Davis, looking inquiringly at Frenchy. "Heard any more news?"

"Nope. Same old story--lots of gold. Shucks, I've bit on so many of themrumors that they don't feaze me no more. One man who don't know nothin'about prospectin' goes an' stumbles over a fortune an' those who know itfrom A to Izzard goes 'round pullin' in their belts. "

"We don't pull in no belts--we knows just where to look, don't we, Tenspot?" Remarked Tex, looking very wise. 

"Ya-as we do, " answered Tenspot, "if yu hasn't dreamed about it, we do. "

"Yu wait; I wasn't dreamin', none whatever, " assured Tex. 

"I saw it!"

"Ya-as, I saw it too onct, " replied Frenchy with sarcasm. "Went andlugged fifty pound of it all th' way to th' assay office--took me twodays! an' that there four-eyed cuss looks at it and snickers. Thenhe takes me by di' arm an' leads me to th' window. 'See that pile, myfriend? That's all like yourn, ' sez he. 'It's worth about one simoleon aton at th' coast. They use it for ballast. '"

"Aw! But this what I saw was gold!" exploded Tex. 

"So was mine, for a while!" laughed Frenchy, nodding to the bartenderfor another round. 

"Well, we're tired of punchin' cows! Ride sixteen hours a day, year inan' year out, an' what do we get? Fifty a month an' no chance to spendit, an' grub that'd make a coyote sniffle! I'm for a vacation, an' if Igoes broke, why, I'll punch again!" asserted Waffles, the foreman, thusrevealing the real purpose of the trip. 

"What'd yore boss say?" Asked Frenchy. 

"Whoop! What didn't he say! Honest, I never thought he had it in him. It was fine. He cussed an hour frontways an' then trailed back on a deadgallop, with us a-laughin' fit to bust. Then he rustles for his gun an'we rustles for town, " answered Waffles, laughing at his remembrance ofit. 

As Frenchy was about to reply his sombrero was snatched from hishead and disappeared. If he "got mad" he was to be regarded as notsufficiently well acquainted for banter and he was at once in hot water;if he took it good-naturedly he was one of the crowd in spirit; but ineither case he didn't get his hat without begging or fighting forit. This was a recognized custom among the O-Bar-O outfit and was notintended as an insult. 

Frenchy grabbed at the empty air and arose. Punching Lefty playfully inthe ribs he passed his hands behind that person's back. Not finding thelost head-gear he laughed and, tripping Lefty up, fell with him and, reaching up on the table for his glass, poured the contents down Lefty'sback and arose. 

"Yu son-of-a-gun!" indignantly wailed that unfortunate. "Gee, it feelsfunny, " he added, grinning as he pulled the wet shirt away from hisspine. 

"Well, I've got to be amblin', " said Frenchy, totally ignoring theloss of his hat. "Goin' down to Buckskin, " he offered, and then asked, "When's yore cook comin'?"

"Day after to-morrow, if he don't get loaded, " replied Tex. 

"Who is he?"

"A one-eyed Mexican--Quiensabe Antonio. "

"I used to know him. He's a heck of a cook. Dished up th' grub oneseason when I was punchin' for th' Tin-Cup up in Montana, " repliedFrenchy. 

"Oh, he kin cook now, all right. " replied Waffles. 

"That's about all he can cook. Useter wash his knives in th' coffee potan' blow on di' tins. I chased him a mile one night for leavin' sand inth' skillet. Yu can have him--I don't envy yu none whatever. 

"He don't sand no skillet when little Tenspot's around, " assured thatperson, slapping his holster. "Does he, Lefty?"

"If he does, yu oughter be lynched, " consoled Lefty. 

"Well, so long, " remarked Frenchy, riding off to a small store, where hebought a cheap sombrero. 

Frenchy was a jack-of-all-trades, having been cow-puncher, prospector, proprietor of a "hotel" in Albuquerque, foreman of a ranch, sheriff, and at one time had played angel to a venturesome but poor show troupe. Beside his versatility he was well known as the man who took the stagethrough the Sioux country when no one else volunteered. He could shootwith the best, but his one pride was the brand of poker he handed out. Furthermore, he had never been known to take an unjust advantage overany man and, on the contrary, had frequently voluntarily handicappedhimself to make the event more interesting. But he must not be classedas being hampered with self-restraint. 

His reasons for making this trip were two-fold: he wished to see BuckPeters, the foreman of the Bar-20 outfit, as he and Buck had punchedcows together twenty years before and were firm friends; the other wasthat he wished to get square with Hopalong Cassidy, who had decisivelycleaned him out the year before at poker. Hopalong played eitherin great good luck or the contrary, while Frenchy played an even, consistent game and usually left off richer than when he began, and thisdecisive defeat bothered him more than he would admit, even to himself. 

The round-up season was at hand and the Bar-20 was short of ropers, therumors of fresh gold discoveries in the Black Hills having drawn all themore restless men north. The outfit also had a slight touch of the goldfever, and only their peculiar loyalty to the ranch and the assuranceof the foreman that when the work was over he would accompany them, keptthem from joining the rush of those who desired sudden and much wealthas the necessary preliminary of painting some cow town in all the "bangup" style such an event would call for. Therefore they had been givenorders to secure the required assistance, and they intended to do so, and were prepared to kidnap, if necessary, for the glamour of wealth andthe hilarity of the vacation made the hours falter in their speed. 

As Frenchy leaned back in his chair in Cowan's saloon, Buckskin, earlythe next morning, planning to get revenge on Hopalong and then torecover his sombrero, he heard a medley of yells and whoops and soon thedoor flew open before the strenuous and concentrated entry of a massof twisting and kicking arms and legs, which magically found theirrespective owners and reverted to the established order of things. 

When the alkali dust had thinned he saw seven cow-punchers sitting onthe prostrate form of another, who was earnestly engaged in trying topush Johnny Nelson's head out in the street with one foot as he voicedhis lucid opinion of things in general and the seven in particular. After Red Connors had been stabbed in the back several times by thevictim's energetic elbow he ran out of the room and presently returnedwith a pleased expression and a sombrero full of water, his fingerplugging an old bullet hole in the crown. 

"Is he any better, Buck?" Anxiously inquired the man with the reservoir. 

"About a dollar's worth, " replied the foreman. "Jest put a little righthere, " he drawled as he pulled back the collar of the unfortunate'sshirt. 

"Ow! wow! WOW!" wailed the recipient, heaving and straining. Theunengaged leg was suddenly wrested loose, and as it shot up and outBilly Williams, with his pessimism aroused to a blue-ribbon pitch, satdown forcibly in an adjacent part of the room, from where he lecturedbetween gasps on the follies of mankind and the attributes of armymules. 

Red tiptoed around the squirming bunch, looking for an opening, hispleased expression now having added a grin. 

"Seems to be gittin' violent-like, " he soliloquized, as he aimed astream at Hopalong's ear, which showed for a second as Pete Wilsonstrove for a half-nelson, and he managed to include Johnny and Pete inhis effort. 

Several minutes later, when the storm had subsided, the woeful crowdenthusiastically urged Hopalong to the bar, where he "bought. "

"Of all th' ornery outfits I ever saw--" began the man at the table, grinning from ear to ear at the spectacle he had just witnessed. 

"Why, hullo, Frenchy! Glad to see yu, yu old son-of-a-gun! What's th'news from th' Hills?" Shouted Hopalong. 

"Rather locoed, an' there's a locoed gang that's headin' that way. Goin'up?" he asked. 

"Shore, after round-up. Seen any punchers trailin' around loose?"

"Ya-as, " drawled Frenchy, delving into the possibilities suddenly openedto him and determining to utilize to the fullest extent the opportunitythat had come to him unsought. "There's nine over to Muddy Wells that yumight git if yu wants them bad enough. They've got a sombrero of mine, "he added deprecatingly. 

"Nine! Twisted Jerusalem, Buck! Nine whole cow-punchers a-pinin' forwork, " he shouted, but then added thoughtfully, "Mebby they's engaged, "it being one of the courtesies of the land not to take another man'shelp. 

"Nope. They've stampeded for th' Hills an' left their boss all alone, "replied Frenchy, well knowing that such desertion would not, in theminds of the Bar-20 men, add any merits to the case of the distantoutfit. 

"Th' sons-of-guns, " said Hopalong, "let's go an' get 'em, " he suggested, turning to Buck, who nodded a smiling assent. 

"Oh, what's the hurry?" Asked Frenchy, seeing his projected gameslipping away into the uncertain future and happy in the thought that hewould be avenged on the O-Bar-O outfit. 

"They'll be there till to-morrow noon--they's waitin' for their cookie, who's goin' with them. "

"A cook! A cook! Oh, joy, a cook!" exulted Johnny, not for one instantdoubting Buck's ability to capture the whole outfit and seeing a whirlof excitement in the effort. 

"Anybody we knows?" Inquired Skinny Thompson. 

"Shore. Tenspot Davis, Waffles, Salvation Carroll, Bigfoot Baker, Charley Lane, Lefty Allen, Kid Morris, Curley Tate an' Tex Le Blanc, "responded Frenchy. 

"Umm-m. Might as well rope a blizzard, " grumbled Billy. "Might as welltry to git th' Seventh Cavalry. We'll have a pious time corralling thatbunch. Them's th' fellows that hit that bunch of inquirin' Crow bravesthat time up in th' Bad Lands an' then said by-bye to th' Ninth. "

"Aw, shut up! They's only two that's very much, an' Buck an' Hopalongcan sing 'em to sleep, " interposed Johnny, afraid that the expeditionwould fall through. 

"How about Curley and Tex?" Pugnaciously asked Billy. 

"Huh, jest because they buffaloed yu over to Las Vegas yu needn't thinkthey's dangerous. Salvation an' Tenspot are only ones who can shoot, "stoutly maintained Johnny. 

"Here yu, get mum, " ordered Buck to the pair. "When this outfit goesafter anything it generally gets it. All in favor of kidnappin' thatoutfit signify di' same by kickin' Billy, " whereupon Bill swore. 

"Do yu want yore hat?" Asked Buck, turning to Frenchy. 

"I shore do, " answered that individual. 

"If yu helps us at th' round-up we'll get it for yu. Fifty a month an'grub, " offered the foreman. 

"O. K. " replied Frenchy, anxious to even matters. 

Buck looked at his watch. "Seven o'clock--we ought to get there by fiveif we relays at th' Barred-Horseshoe. Come on. "

"How are we goin' to git them?" Asked Billy. 

"Yu leave that to me, son. Hopalong an' Frenchy'll tend to that part ofit, " replied Buck, making for his horse and swinging into the saddle, anexample which was followed by the others, including Frenchy. 

As they swung off Buck noticed the condition of Frenchy's mount andhalted. "Yu take that cayuse back an' get Cowan's, " he ordered. 

"That cayuse is good for Cheyenne--she eats work, an' besides I wants myown, " laughed Frenchy. 

"Yu must had a reg'lar picnic from th' looks of that crease, "volunteered Hopalong, whose curiosity was mastering him. "Shoo! I hada little argument with some feather dusters--th' O-Bar-O crowd cleanedthem up. "

"That so?" Asked Buck. 

"Yep! They sorter got into th' habit of chasin' me to Las Cruces an'forgot to stop. "

"How many'd yu get?" Asked Lanky Smith. 

"Twelve. Two got away. I got two before th' crowd showed up--that makesfo'teen. "

"Now th' cavalry'll be huntin' yu, " croaked Billy. 

"Hunt nothin'! They was in war-paint-think I was a target?--Think I wasgoin' to call off their shots for 'em?"

They relayed at the Barred-Horseshoe and went on their way at the samepace. Shortly after leaving the last-named ranch Buck turned to Frenchyand asked, "Any of that outfit think they can play poker?"

"Shore. Waffles. "

"Does th' reverend Mr. Waffles think so very hard?"

"He shore does. "

"Do th' rest of them mavericks think so too?"

"They'd bet their shirts on him. "

At this juncture all were startled by a sudden eruption from Billy. "Haw! Haw! Haw!" he roared as the drift of Buck's intentions struck him. "Haw! Haw! Haw!"

"Here, yu long-winded coyote, " yelled Red, banging him over the headwith his quirt, "If yu don't 'Haw! Haw!' away from my ear I'll make ita Wow! Wow! What d'yu mean? Think I am a echo cliff? Yu slabsideddoodle-bug, yu!"

"G'way, yu crimson topknot, think my head's a hunk of quartz? Fer aplugged peso I'd strew yu all over th' scenery!" shouted Billy, feigninganger and rubbing his head. 

"There ain't no scenery around here, " interposed Lanky. "This herebe-utiful prospect is a sublime conception of th' devil. "

"Easy, boy! Them highfalutin' words'il give yu a cramp some day. Yu talklike a newly-made sergeant, " remarked Skinny. 

"He learned them words from the sky-pilot over at El Paso, " volunteeredHopalong, winking at Red. "He used to amble down th' aisle afore thelights was lit so's he could get a front seat. That was all hunky fora while, but every time he'd go out to irrigate, that femaleorgan-wrastler would seem to call th' music off for his special benefit. So in a month he'd sneak in an' freeze to a chair by th' door, an' aftera while he'd shy like blazes every time he got within eye range of th'church. "

"Shore. But do yu know what made him get religion all of a sudden? Heused to hang around on di' outside after th' joint let out an' trailalong behind di' music-slinger, lookin' like he didn't know what to dowith his hands. Then when he got woozy one time she up an' told him thatshe had got a nice long letter from her hubby. Then Mr. Lanky hit th'trail for Santa Fe so hard that there wasn't hardly none of it left. Ididn't see him for a whole month, " supplied Red innocently. 

"Yore shore funny, ain't yu?" sarcastically grunted Lanky. "Why, I cantell things on yu that'd make yu stand treat for a year. "

"I wouldn't sneak off to Santa Fe an' cheat yu out of them. Yu ought tobe ashamed of yoreself. "

"Yah!" snorted the aggrieved little man. "I had business over to SantaFe!"

"Shore, " endorsed Hopalong. "We've all had business over to Santa Fe. Why, about eight years ago I had business--"

"Choke up, " interposed Red. "About eight years ago yu was washin' pansfor cookie, an' askin' me for cartridges. Buck used to larrup yu aboutfour times a day eight years ago. "

To their roars of laughter Hopalong dropped to the rear, where, red-faced and quiet, he bent his thoughts on how to get square. 

"We'll have a pleasant time corralling that gang, " began Billy for thethird time. 

"For heaven's sake get off that trail!" replied Lanky. "We aint goin' tohold 'em up. De-plomacy's th' game. "

Billy looked dubious and said nothing. If he hadn't proven that he wasas nervy as any man in the outfit they might have taken more stock inhis grumbling. 

"What's the latest from Abilene way?" Asked Buck of Frenchy. 

"Nothin' much 'cept th' barb-wire ruction, " replied the recruit. 

"What's that?" Asked Red, glancing apprehensively back at Hopalong. 

"Why, th' settlers put up barb-wire fence so's the cattle wouldn't geton their farms. That would a been all right, for there wasn't much ofit. But some Britishers who own a couple of big ranches out there gotsmart all of a sudden an' strung wire all along their lines. Puncherscrossin' th' country would run plumb into a fence an' would have to ridea day an' a half, mebbe, afore they found th' corner. Well, naturally, when a man has been used to ridin' where he blame pleases an' asstraight as he pleases he ain't goin' to chase along a five-foot fenceto Trisco when he wants to get to Waco. So th' punchers got to totin'wire-snips, an' when they runs up agin a fence they cuts down half amile or so. Sometimes they'd tie their ropes to a strand an' pull off acouple of miles an' then go back after th' rest. Th' ranch bosses sentout men to watch th' fences an' told 'em to shoot any festive puncherthat monkeyed with th' hardware. Well, yu know what happens when apuncher gets shot at. "

"When fences grow in Texas there'll be th' devil to pay, " said Buck. Hehated to think that some day the freedom of the range would be annulled, for he knew that it would be the first blow against the cowboys'occupation. When a man's cattle couldn't spread out all over the land hewouldn't have to keep so many men. Farms would spring up and the sun ofthe free-and-easy cowboy would slowly set. 

"I reckons th' cutters are classed th' same as rustlers, " remarked Redwith a gleam of temper. 

"By th' owners, but not by th' punchers; an' it's th' punchers thatcount, " replied Frenchy. 

"Well, we'll give them a fight, " interposed Hopalong, riding up. "Whenit gets so I can't go where I please I'll start on th' warpath. I won'tbuck the cavalry, but I'll keep it busy huntin' for me an' I'll havetime to 'tend to th' wire-fence men, too. Why, we'll be told we can'ttote our guns!"

"They're sayin' that now, " replied Frenchy. "Up in Buffalo, Smith, who'snow marshal, makes yu leave 'em with th' bartenders. "

"I'd like to see any two-laigged cuss get my guns If I didn't want himto!" began Hopalong, indignant at the idea. 

"Easy, son, " cautioned Buck. "Yu would do what th' rest did because yuare a square man. I'm about as hard-headed a puncher as ever straddledleather an' I've had to use my guns purty considerable, but I reckons ifany decent marshal asked me to cache them in a decent way, why, I'ddo it. An' let me brand somethin' on yore mind--I've heard of Smith ofBuffalo, an' he's mighty nifty with his hands. He don't stand off an'tell yu to unload yore lead-ranch, but he ambles up close an' taps yuon yore shirt; if yu makes a gunplay he naturally knocks yu clean acrossth' room an' unloads yu afore yu gets yore senses back. He weighs abouta hundred an' eighty an' he's shore got sand to burn. "

"Yah! When I makes a gun play she plays! I'd look nice in Abilene orPaso or Albuquerque without my guns, wouldn't I? Just because I totesthem in plain sight I've got to hand 'em over to some liquor-wrastler? Ireckons not! Some hip-pocket skunk would plug me afore I could wink. I'dshore look nice loping around a keno layout without my guns, in th'same town with some cuss huntin' me, wouldn't I? A whole lot of good amarshal would a done Jimmy, an' didn't Harris get his from a cur in th'dark?" shouted Hopalong, angered by the prospect. 

"We're talkin' about Buffalo, where everybody has to hang up theirguns, " replied Buck. "An' there's th' law--"

"To blazes with th' law!" whooped Hopalong in Red's ear as heunfastened the cinch of Red's saddle and at the same time stabbing thatunfortunate's mount with his spurs, thereby causing a hasty separationof the two. When Red had picked himself up and things had quieted downagain the subject was changed, and several hours later they rode intoMuddy Wells, a town with a little more excuse for its existence thanBuckskin. The wells were in an arid valley west of Guadaloupe Pass, andwere not only muddy but more or less alkaline. 

CHAPTER. X. Peace Hath its Victories

As they neared the central group of buildings they heard a hilariousand assertive song which sprang from the door and windows of the mainsaloon. It was in jig time, rollicking and boisterous, but the words hadevidently been improvised for the occasion, as they clashed immediatelywith those which sprang to the minds of the outfit, although they couldnot be clearly distinguished. As they approached nearer and finallydismounted, however, the words became recognizable and the visitors wereat once placed in harmony with the air of jovial recklessness by theroaring of the verses and the stamping of the time. 

 Oh we're red-hot cow-punchers playin' on our luck, An' there ain't a proposition that we won't buck: From sunrise to sunset we've ridden on the range, But now we're oft for a howlin' change. 

CHORUS

 Laugh a little, sing a little, all th' day; Play a little, drink a little--we can pay; Ride a little, dig a little an' rich we'll grow. Oh, we're that bunch from th' O-Bar-O!

 Oh, there was a little tenderfoot an' he had a little gun, An' th' gun an' him went a-trailin' up some fun. They ambles up to Santa Fe' to find a quiet game, An' now they're planted with some more of th' same!

As Hopalong, followed by the others, pushed open the door and enteredhe took up the chorus with all the power of Texan lungs and even Billyjoined in. The sight that met their eyes was typical of the men and themood and the place. Leaning along the walls, lounging on the table andstraddling chairs with their forearms crossed on the backs were ninecowboys, ranging from old twenty to young fifty in years, and all wereshouting the song and keeping time with their hands and feet. 

In the center of the room was a large man dancing a fair buck-and-wingto the time so uproariously set by his companions. Hatless, neck-kerchief loose, holsters flapping, chaps rippling out and close, spurs clinking and perspiration streaming from his tanned face, dancedBigfoot Baker as though his life depended on speed and noise. Bottlesshook and the air was fogged with smoke and dust. Suddenly, his beltslipping and letting his chaps fall around his ankles, he tripped andsat down heavily. Gasping for breath, he held out his hand and receiveda huge plug of tobacco, for Bigfoot had won a contest. 

Shouts of greeting were hurled at the newcomers and many questions werefired at them regarding "th' latest from th' Hills. " Waffles made a rushfor Hopalong, but fell over Big-foot's feet and all three were piled upin a heap. All were beaming with good nature, for they were as so manyschool boys playing truant. Prosaic cow-punching was relegated to therear and they looked eagerly forward to their several missions. Frenchytold of the barb-wire fence war and of the new regulations of "Smithof Buffalo" regarding cow-punchers' guns, and from the caustic remarksexplosively given it was plain to be seen what a wire fence couldexpect, should one be met with, and there were many imaginary Smiths puthors de combat. 

Kid Morris, after vainly trying to slip a blue-bottle fly inside ofHopalong's shirt, gave it up and slammed his hand on Hopalong's backinstead, crying: "Well, I'll be doggoned if here ain't Hopalong! How'sth' missus an' th' deacon an' all th' folks to hum? I hears yu an'Frenchy's reg'lar poker fiends!"

"Oh, we plays onct in a while, but we don't want none of yore dust. Yu'll shore need it all afore th' Hills get through with yu, " laughinglyreplied Hopalong. 

"Oh, yore shore kind! But I was a sort of reckonin' that we needs somemore. Perfesser P. D. Q. Waffles is our poker man an' he shore can cleanout anything I ever saw. Mebbe yu fellers feel reckless-like an' wouldlike to make a pool, " he cried, addressing the outfit of the Bar-20, "an' back yore boss of th' full house agin ourn?"

Red turned slowly around and took a full minute in which to size the Kidup. Then he snorted and turned his back again. 

The Kid stared at him in outraged dignity. "Well, what say!" he softlymurmured. Then he leaped forward and walloped Red on the back. "Hey, yore royal highness!" he shouted. "Yu-yu-yu-oh, hang it-yu! Yuslab-sided, ring-boned, saddle-galled shade of a coyote, do yu think I'monly meanderin' in th' misty vales of-of--"

Suggestions intruded from various sources. "Hades?" offered Hopalong. "Cheyenne?" Murmured Johnny. "Misty mistiness of misty?" tentativelysupplied Waffles. 

Red turned around again. "Better come up an' have somethin', " hesympathetically invited, wiping away an imaginary tear. 

"An' he's so young!" sobbed Frenchy. 

"An' so fair!" wailed Tex. 

"An' so ornery!" howled Lefty, throwing his arms around the discomfitedyoungster. Other arms went around him, and out of the sobbing mob couldbe heard earnest and heart-felt cussing, interspersed with imperativecommands, which were gradually obeyed. 

The Kid straightened up his wearing apparel. "Come on, yu locoed--"

"Angels?" Queried Charley Lane, interrupting him. "Sweet things?"breathed Hopalong in hopeful expectancy. 

"Oh, blast it!" yelled the Kid as he ran out into the street to escapethe persecution. 

"Good Kid, all right, " remarked Waffles. "He'll go around an' lick someMexican an' come back sweet as honey. "

"Did somebody say poker?" Asked Bigfoot, digressing from the Kid. 

"Oh, yu fellows don't want no poker. Of course yu don't. Poker's mightyuncertain, " replied Red. 

"Yah!" exclaimed Tex Le Blanc, pushing forward. "I'll just bet yu toa standstill that Waffles an' Salvation'll round up all th' festivesimoleons yu can get together! An' I'll throw in Frenchy's hat as aninducement. "

"Well, if yore shore set on it make her a pool, " replied Red, "an' th'winners divide with their outfit. Here's a starter, " he added, tossing abuckskin bag on the table. "Come on, pile 'em up. "

The crowd divided as the players seated themselves at the table, theO-Bar-O crowd grouping themselves behind their representatives; theBar-20 behind theirs. A deck of cards was brought and the game was on. 

Red, true to his nature, leaned back in a corner, where, hands on hips, he awaited any hostile demonstration on the part of the O-Bar-O; then, suddenly remembering, he looked half ashamed of his warlike position andbecame a peaceful citizen again. Buck leaned with his broad back againstthe bar, talking over his shoulder to the bartender, but watchingTenspot Davis, who was assiduously engaged in juggling a handful ofMexican dollars. 

Up by the door Bigfoot Baker, elated at winning the buck-and-wingcontest, was endeavoring to learn a new step, while his late rival wasdrowning his defeat at Buck's elbow. Lefty Allen was softly singing aMexican love song, humming when the words would not come. At thetable could be heard low-spoken card terms and good-natured banter, interspersed with the clink of gold and silver and the soft pat-patof the onlookers' feet unconsciously keeping time to Lefty's song. Notwithstanding the grim assertiveness of belts full of . 45's and thepeeping handles of long-barreled Colts, set off with picturesque chaps, sombreros and tinkling spurs, the scene was one of peaceful content andgood-fellowship. 

"Ugh!" grunted Johnny, walking over to Red and informing that personthat he, Red, was a worm-eaten prune and that for half a wink he, Johnny, would prove it. Red grabbed him by the seat of his corduroysand the collar of his shirt and helped him outside, where they strolledabout, taking pot shots at whatever their fancy suggested. 

Down the street in a cloud of dust rumbled the Las Cruces-El Paso stageand the two punchers went up to meet it. Raw furrows showed in thewoodwork, one mule was missing and the driver and guard wore freshbandages. A tired tenderfoot leaped out with a sigh of relief and huntedfor his baggage, which he found to be generously perforated. Swearingat the God-forsaken land where a man had to fight highwaymen andIndians inside of half a day he grumblingly lugged his valise toward aforbidding-looking shack which was called a hotel. 

The driver released his teams and then turned to Red. "Hullo, old hoss, how's th' gang?" he asked genially. "We've had a heck of a time thisyere trip, " he went on without waiting for Red to reply. "Five miles outof Las Cruces we stood off a son-of-a-gun that wanted th' dude's wealth. Then just this side of the San Andre foothills we runs into a bunch ofyoung bucks who turned us off this yere way an' gave us a runnin' fightpurty near all th' way. I'm a whole lot farther from Paso now than Iwas when I started, an seem as I lost a jack I'll be some time gittin'there. Yu don't happen to sabe a jack I can borrow, do yu?"

"I don't know about no jack, but I'll rope yu a bronch, " offered Red, winking at Johnny. 

"I'll pull her myself before I'll put dynamite in di' traces, " repliedthe driver. "Yu fellers might amble back a ways with me--them buddin'warriors'll be layin' for me. "

"We shore will, " responded Johnny eagerly. "There's nine of us now an'there'll be nine more an' a cook to-morrow, mebby. "

"Gosh, yu grows some, " replied the guard. "Eighteen'll be a plenty forthem glory hunters. "

"We won't be able to, " contradicted Red, "for things are peculiar. "

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the tenderfoot, whosported a new and cheap sombrero and also a belt and holster complete. 

"Will you gentlemen join me?" He asked, turning to Red and nodding atthe saloon. "I am very dry and much averse to drinking alone. "

"Why, shore, " responded Red heartily, wishing to put the stranger atease. 

The game was running about even as they entered and Lefty Allen wassinging "The Insult, " the rich tenor softening the harshness of thesurroundings. 

 I've swum th' Colorado where she's almost lost to view, I've braced th' Jaro layouts in Cheyenne;

 I've fought for muddy water with a howlin' bunch of Sioux, An' swallowed hot tamales, an' cayenne. 

 I've rid a pitchin' broncho 'till th' sky was underneath, I've tackled every desert in th' land;

 I've sampled XXXX whiskey 'till I couldn't hardly see, An' dallied with th' quicksands of the Grande. 

 I've argued with th' marshals of a half-a-dozen burgs, I've been dragged free an' fancy by a cow;

 I've had three years' campaignin' with th' fightin', bitin' Ninth, An' never lost my temper 'till right now. 

 I've had the yaller fever an I've been shot full of holes, I've grabbed an army mule plumb by its tail;

 I've never been so snortin', really highfalutin' mad As when y'u up an' hands me ginger ale!

Hopalong laughed joyously at a remark made by Waffles and the strangerglanced quickly at him. His merry, boyish face, underlined by ajaw showing great firmness and set with an expression of aggressiveself-reliance, impressed the stranger and he remarked to Red, wholounged lazily near him, that he was surprised to see such a face on soyoung a man and he asked who the player was. 

"Oh, his name's Hopalong Cassidy, " answered Red. "He's di' cuss thatraised that ruction down in Mexico last spring. Rode his cayuse in asaloon and played with the loungers and had to shoot one before he gotout. When he did get out he had to fight a whole bunch of Mexicans an'even potted their marshal, who had di' drop on him. Then he returned andvisited the marshal about a month later, took his gun away from himan' then cut th' cards to see if he was a prisoner or not. He's a shorefunny cuss. "

The tenderfoot gasped his amazement. "Are you not fooling with me?" Heasked. 

"Tell him yu came after that five hundred dollars reward and see, "answered Red goodnaturedly. 

"Holy smoke!" shouted Waffles as Hopalong won his sixth consecutive pot. "Did yu ever see such luck?" Frenchy grinned and some time later rakedin his third. Salvation then staked his last cent against Hopalong'sflush and dropped out. 

Tenspot flipped to Waffles the money he had been juggling and Leftysearched his clothes for wealth. Buck, still leaning against the bar, grinned and winked at Johnny, who was pouring hair-raising tales intothe receptive ears of the stranger. Thereupon Johnny confided to hisnewly found acquaintance the facts about the game, nearly causing thatperson to explode with delight. 

Waffles pushed back his chair, stood up and stretched. At the finishof a yawn he grinned at his late adversary. "I'm all in, yu oldson-of-a-gun. Yu shore can play draw. I'm goin' to try yu again sometime. I was beat fair an' square an' I ain't got no kick comin', nonewhatever, " he remarked, as he shook hands with Hopalong. 

"Oh, we're that gang from th' O-Bar-O, " hummed the Kid as he saunteredin. One cheek was slightly swollen and his clothes shed dust at everystep. "Who wins?" he inquired, not having heard Waffles. 

"They did, blast it!" exploded Bigfoot. 

One of the Kid's peculiarities was revealed in the unreasoning andhasty conclusions he arrived at. From no desire to imply unfairness, but rather because of his bitterness against failure of any kind and hisloyalty to Waffles, came his next words:

"Mebby they skinned yu. "

Like a flash Waffles sprang before him, his hand held up, palm out. "Hedon't mean nothin'--he's only a ignorant kid!" he cried. 

Buck smiled and wrested the Colt from Johnny's ever-ready hand. "Here'sanother, " he said. Red laughed softly and rolled Johnny on the floor. "Yu jackass, " he whispered, "don't yu know better'n to make a gun-playwhen we needs them all?"

"What are we goin' to do?" Asked Tex, glancing at the bulging pockets ofHopalong's chaps. 

"We're goin' to punch cows again, that's what we're to do, " answeredBigfoot dismally. 

"An' whose are we goin' to punch? We can't go back to the old man, "grumbled Tex. 

Salvation looked askance at Buck and then at the others. "Mebby, " hebegan, "Mebby we kin git a job on th' Bar-20. " Then turning to Buckagain he bluntly asked, "Are yu short of punchers?"

"Well, I might use some, " answered the foreman, hesitating. "But I ain't got only one cook, an'----"

"We'll git yu th' cook all O. K. , " interrupted Charley Lane vehemently. "Hi, yu cook!" he shouted, "amble in here an' git a rustle on!"

There was no reply, and after waiting for a minute he and Waffles wentinto the rear room, from which there immediately issued great chunksof profanity and noise. They returned looking pugnacious and disgusted, with a wildly fighting man who was more full of liquor than was thebottle which he belligerently waved. 

"This here animated distillery what yu sees is our cook, " said Waffles. "We eats his grub, nobody else. If he gits drunk that's our funeral; buthe won't get drunk! If yu wants us to punch for yu say so an' we does;if yu don't, we don't. "

"Well, " replied Buck thoughtfully, "mebby I can use yu. " Then with aburst of recklessness he added, "Yes, if I lose my job! But yu mightsober that Mexican up if yu let him fall in th' horse trough. "

As the procession wended its way on its mission of wet charity, carryingthe cook in any manner at all, Frenchy waved his long lost sombreroat Buck, who stood in the door, and shouted, "Yu old son-of-a-gun, I'mproud to know yu!"

Buck smiled and snapped his watch shut "Time to amble, " he said. 

CHAPTER XI. Holding the Claim

"Oh, we're that gang from th' O-Bar-O, " hummed Waffles, sinking thebranding-iron in the flank of a calf. The scene was one of greatactivity and hilarity. Several fires were burning near the huge corraland in them half a dozen irons were getting hot. Three calves were beingheld down for the brand of the "Bar-20" and two more were being draggedup on their sides by the ropes of the cowboys, the proud cow-poniesshowing off their accomplishments at the expense of the calves'feelings. In the corral the dust arose in steady clouds as calf aftercalf was "cut out" by the ropers and dragged out to get "tagged. " Angrycows fought valiantly for their terrorized offspring, but always to noavail, for the hated rope of some perspiring and dust-grimed rider sentthem crashing to earth. Over the plain were herds of cattle and groupsof madly riding cowboys, and two cook wagons were stalled a shortdistance from the corral. The round-up of the Bar-20 was taking place, and each of the two outfits tried to outdo the other and each individualstrove for a prize. The man who cut out and dragged to the fire the mostcalves in three days could leave for the Black Hills at the expirationof that time, the rest to follow as soon as they could. 

In this contest Hopalong Cassidy led his nearest rival, Red Connors, both of whom were Bar-20 men, by twenty cut-outs, and there remained buthalf an hour more in which to compete. As Red disappeared into the seaof tossing horns Hopalong dashed out with a whoop. 

 "Hi, yu trellis-built rack of bones, come along there! Whoop!" heyelled, turning the prisoner over to the squad by the fire. 

"Chalk up this here insignificant wart of cross-eyed perversity: an' howmany?" He called as he galloped back to the corral. 

"One ninety-eight, " announced Buck, blowing the sand from the tallysheet. "That's shore goin' some, " he remarked to himself. 

When the calf sprang up it was filled with terror, rage and pain, andcharged at Billy from the rear as that pessimistic soul was leaning overand poking his finger at a somber horned-toad. "Wow!" he yelled as hisfeet took huge steps up in the air, each one strictly on its own course. "Woof!" he grunted in the hot sand as he arose on his hands and kneesand spat alkali. 

"What's s'matter?" He asked dazedly of Johnny Nelson. "Ain't it funny!"he yelled sarcastically as he beheld Johnny holding his sides withlaughter. "Ain't it funny!" he repeated belligerently. "Of course thatfour-laigged, knock-kneed, wobblin' son-of-a-Piute had to cut me out. They wasn't nobody in sight but Billy! Why didn't yu say he was comin'?Think I can see four ways to once? Why didn't--" At this point Redcantered up with a calf, and by a quick maneuver, drew the taut ropeagainst the rear of Billy's knees, causing that unfortunate to sit downheavily. As he arose choking with broken-winded profanity Red draggedthe animal to the fire, and Billy forgot his grievances in the press oflabor. 

"How many, Buck?" Asked Red. 

"One-eighty. "

"How does she stand?"

"Yore eighteen to th' bad, " replied the foreman. "Th' son-of-a-gun!"marveled Red, riding off. 

Another whoop interrupted them, and Billy quit watching out of thecorner eye for pugnacious calves as he prepared for Hopalong. 

"Hey, Buck, this here cuss was with a Barred-Horseshoe cow, " heannounced as he turned it over to the branding man. Buck made a tally ina separate column and released the animal. "Hullo, Red! Workin'?" AskedHopalong of his rival. 

"Some, yu little cuss, " answered Red with all the good nature in theworld. Hopalong was his particular "side partner, " and he could lose tohim with the best of feelings. 

"Yu looks so nice an' cool, an' clean, I didn't know, " respondedHopalong, eyeing a streak of sweat and dust which ran from Red's eyes tohis chin and then on down his neck. 

"What yu been doin'? Plowin' with yore nose?" Returned Red, smilingblandly at his friend's appearance. 

"Yah!" snorted Hopalong, wheeling toward the corral. "Come on, yupie-eatin' doodle-bug; I'll beat yu to th' gate!"

The two ponies sent showers of sand all over Billy, who eyed themin pugnacious disgust. "Of all th' locoed imps that ever made lifemiserable fer a man, them's th' worst! Is there any piece of foolnonsense they hain't harnessed me with?" He beseeched of Buck. "Is thereanything they hain't done to me? They hides my liquor; they stuffs th'sweat band of my hat with rope; they ties up my pants; they puts waterin. My boots an' toads in my bunk--ain't they never goin' to get sane?"

"Oh, they're only kids--they can't help it, " offered Buck. "Didn't theyhobble my cayuse when I was on him an' near bust my neck?"

Hopalong interrupted the conversation by driving up another calf, andBuck, glancing at his watch, declared the contest at an end. 

"Yu wins, " he remarked to the newcomer. "An' now yu get scarce or Billywill shore straddle yore nerves. He said as how he was goin' to getsquare on yu to-night. "

"I didn't, neither, Hoppy!" earnestly contradicted Billy, who badvisions of a night spent in torment as a reprisal for such a threat. "Honest I didn't, did I, Johnny?" He asked appealingly. 

"Yu shore did, " lied Johnny, winking at Red, who had just ridden up. 

"I don't know what yore talkin' about, but yu shore did, " replied Red. 

"If yu did, " grinned Hopalong, "I'll shore make yu hard to find. Comeon, fellows, " he said; "grub's ready. Where's Frenchy?"

"Over chewin' th' rag with Waffles about his hat--he's lost it again, "answered Red. "He needs a guardian fer that bonnet. Th' Kid an'Salvation has jammed it in th' corral fence an' Waffles has to stand ferit. "

"Let's put it in th' grub wagon an see him cuss cookie, " suggestedHopalong. 

"Shore, " indorsed Johnny; Cookie'll feed him bum grub for a week to getsquare. 

Hopalong and Johnny ambled over to the corral and after some troublelocated the missing sombrero, which they carried to the grub wagon andhid in the flour barrel. Then they went over by the excited owner anddropped a few remarks about how strange the cook was acting and how hewas watching Frenchy. 

Frenchy jumped at the bait and tore over to the wagon, where he and thecook spent some time in mutual recrimination. Hopalong nosed around andfinally dug up the hat, white as new-fallen snow. 

"Here's a hat--found it in th' dough barrel, " he announced, handing itover to Frenchy, who received it in open-mouthed stupefaction. 

"Yu pie-makin' pirate! Yu didn't know where my lid was, did yu! Yucross-eyed lump of hypocrisy!" yelled Frenchy, dusting off the flourwith one full-armed swing on the cook's face, driving it into thatunfortunate's nose and eyes and mouth. "Yu white-washed Chink, yu--rubyore face with water an' yu've got pancakes. "

"Hey! What you doin'!" yelled the cook, kicking the spot where he hadlast seen Frenchy. "Don't yu know better'n that!"

"Yu live close to yoreself or I'll throw yu so high th' sun'll duck, "replied Frenchy, a smile illuminating his face. 

"Hey, cookie, " remarked Hopalong confidentially, "I know who put up thisjoke on yu. Yu ask Billy who hid th' hat, " suggested the tease. "Here hecomes now--see how queer he looks. "

"Th' mournful Piute, " ejaculated the cook. "I'll shore make him wishhe'd kept on his own trail. I'll flavor his slush [coffee] with year-olddish-rags!"

At this juncture Billy ambled up, keeping his weather eye peeled fortrouble. "Who's a dish-rag?" He queried. The cook mumbled somethingabout crazy hens not knowing when to quit cackling and climbed up in hiswagon. And that night Billy swore off drinking coffee. 

When the dawn of the next day broke, Hopalong was riding toward theBlack Hills, leaving Billy to untie himself as best he might. 

The trip was uneventful and several weeks later he entered Red Dog, arambling shanty town, one of those western mushrooms that sprang up in anight. He took up his stand at the Miner's Rest, and finally securedsix claims at the cost of nine hundred hard-earned dollars, a fundsubscribed by the outfits, as it was to be a partnership affair. 

He rode out to a staked-off piece of hillside and surveyed his purchase, which consisted of a patch of ground, six holes, six piles of dirt anda log hut. The holes showed that the claims bad been tried and foundwanting. 

He dumped his pack of tools and provisions, which he had bought on theway up, and lugged them into the cabin. After satisfying his curiosityhe went outside and sat down for a smoke, figuring up in his mind howmuch gold he could carry on a horse. Then, as he realized that he couldget a pack mule to carry the surplus, he became aware of a strangepresence near at hand and looked up into the muzzle of a Sharp's rifle. He grasped the situation in a flash and calmly blew several heavy smokerings around the frowning barrel. 

"Well?" He asked slowly. 

"Nice day, stranger, " replied the man with the rifle, "but don't yureckon yu've made a mistake?"

Hopalong glanced at the number burned on a near-by stake and carelesslyblew another smoke ring. He was waiting for the gun to waver. 

"No, I reckons not, " he answered. "Why?"

"Well, I'll jest tell yu since yu asks. This yere claim's mine an' I'ma reg'lar terror, I am. That's why; an' seein' as it is, yu better amblesome. "

Hopalong glanced down the street and saw an interested group watchinghim, which only added to his rage for being in such a position. Thenhe started to say something, faltered and stared with horror at a pointseveral feet behind his opponent. The "terror" sprang to one side inresponse to Hop-along's expression, as if fearing that a snake or somesuch danger threatened him. As he alighted in his new position he fellforward and Hopalong slid a smoking Colt in its holster. 

Several men left the distant group and ran toward the claim. Hopalongreached his arm inside the door and brought forth his rifle, with whichhe covered their advance. 

"Anything yu want?" he shouted savagely. 

The men stopped and two of them started to sidle in front of two others, but Hopalong was not there for the purpose of permitting a move thatwould screen any gun play and he stopped the game with a warning shout. Then the two held up their hands and advanced. 

"We wants to git Dan, " called out one of them, nodding at the prostratefigure. 

"Come ahead, " replied Hopalong, substituting a Colt for the rifle. 

They carried their badly wounded and insensible burden back to thosewhom they had left, and several curses were hurled at the cowboy, whoonly smiled grimly and entered the hut to place things ready for asiege, should one come. He had one hundred rounds of ammunition andprovisions enough for two weeks, with the assurance of reinforcementslong before that time would expire. He cut several rough loopholes andlaid out his weapons for quick handling. He knew that he could stop anyadvance during the day and planned only for night attacks. How longhe could go without sleep did not bother him, because he gave it nothought, as he was accustomed to short naps and could awaken at will orat the slightest sound. 

As dusk merged into dark he crept forth and collected several handfulsof dry twigs, which he scattered around the hut, as the cracking ofthese would warn him of an approach. Then he went in and went to sleep. 

He awoke at daylight after a good night's rest, and feasted on cannedbeans and peaches. Then he tossed the cans out of the door and shovedhis hat out. Receiving no response he walked out and surveyed the townat his feet. A sheepish grin spread over his face as he realized thatthere was no danger. Several red-shirted men passed by him on their wayto town, and one, a grizzled veteran of many gold camps, stopped andsauntered up to him. 

"Mornin', " said Hopalong. 

"Mornin', " replied the stranger. "I thought I'd drop in an' say that Isaw that gun-play of yourn yesterday. Yu ain't got no reason to look fera rush. This camp is half white men an' half bullies, an' th' white menwon't stand fer no play like that. Them fellers that jest passed areneighbors of yourn, an' they won't lay abed if yu needs them. But yuwants to look out fer th' joints in th' town. Guess this business is outof yore line, " he finished as he sized Hopalong up. 

"She shore is, but I'm here to stay. Got tired of punchin' an' reckonedI'd get rich. " Here he smiled and glanced at the hole. "How're yu makin'out?" He asked. 

"'Bout five dollars a day apiece, but that ain't nothin' when grub's sohigh. Got reckless th' other day an' had a egg at fifty cents. "

Hopalong whistled and glanced at the empty cans at his feet. "Anymarshal in this burg?"

"Yep. But he's one of th' gang. No good, an' drunk half th' time an'half drunk th' rest. Better come down an' have something, " invited theminer. 

"I'd shore like to, but I can't let no gang get in that door, " repliedthe puncher. 

"Oh, that's all right; I'll call my pardner down to keep house till yugits back. He can hold her all right. Hey, Jake!" he called to a man whowas some hundred paces distant; "Come down here an' keep house till wegits back, will yu?"

The man lumbered down to them and took possession as Hopalong and hisnewly found friend started for the town. 

They entered the "Miner's Rest" and Hopalong fixed the room in his mindwith one swift glance. Three men--and they looked like the crowd he hadstopped before--were playing poker at a table near the window. Hopalongleaned with his back to the bar and talked, with the players always insight. 

Soon the door opened and a bewhiskered, heavy-set man tramped in, andwalking up to Hopalong, looked him over. 

"Huh, " he sneered, "Yu are th' gent with th' festive guns that pluggedDan, ain't yu?"

Hopalong looked at him in the eyes and quietly replied:

"An' who th' deuce are yu?"

The stranger's eyes blazed and his face wrinkled with rage as heaggressively shoved his jaw close to Hopalong's face. 

"Yu runt, I'm a better man than yu even if yu do wear hair pants, "referring to Hopalong's chaps. "Yu cow-wrastlers make me tired, an' I'mgoin' to show yu that this town is too good for you. Yu can say it rightnow that yu are a ornery, game-leg--"

Hopalong smashed his insulter squarely between the eyes with all thepower of his sinewy body behind the blow, knocking him in a heap underthe table. Then he quickly glanced at the card players and saw a hostilemovement. His gun was out in a flash and he covered the trio as hewalked up to them. Never in all his life had he felt such a desire tokill. His eyes were diamond points of accumulated fury, and those whomhe faced quailed before him. 

"Yu scum! Draw, please draw! Pull yore guns an' gimme my chance! Threeto one, an' I'll lay my guns here, " he said, placing them on the bar andremoving his hands. "'Nearer My God to Thee' is purty appropriate feryu just now! Yu seem to be a-scared of yore own guns. Git down on yoredirty knees an' say good an' loud that yu eats dirt! Shout out thatyu are too currish to live with decent men, " he said, even-toned anddistinct, his voice vibrant with passion as he took up his Colts. "Getdown!" he repeated, shoving the weapons forward and pulling back thehammers. 

The trio glanced at each other, and all three dropped to their knees andrepeated in venomous hatred the words Hopalong said for them. 

"Now git! An' if I sees yu when I leaves I'll send yu after yore friend. I'll shoot on sight now. Git!" He escorted them to the door and kickedthe last one out. 

His miner friend still leaned against the bar and looked his approval. 

"Well done, youngster! But yu wants to look out--that man, " pointing tothe now groping victim of Hopalong's blow, "is th' marshal of this town. He or his pals will get yu if yu don't watch th' corners. "

Hopalong walked over to the marshal, jerked him to his feet and slammedhim against the bar. Then he tore the cheap badge from its place andthrew it on the floor. Reaching down, he drew the marshal's revolverfrom its holster and shoved it in its owner's hand. 

"Yore th' marshal of this place an' it's too good for me, but yore gain'to pick up that tin lie, " pointing at the badge, "an' yore goin' to doit right now. Then yore gain' to get kicked out of that door, an' ifyu stops runnin' while I can see yu I'll fill yu so full of holes yu'llcatch cold. Yore a sumptious marshal, yu are! Yore th' snortingest ki-yithat ever stuck its tail atween its laigs, yu are. Yu pop-eyed wallflower, yu wants to peep to yoreself or some papoose'll slide yu overth' Divide so fast yu won't have time to grease yore pants. Pick up thatlicense-tag an' let me see you perculate so lively that yore back'lllook like a ten-cent piece in five seconds. Flit!"

The marshal, dazed and bewildered, stooped and fumbled for the badge. Then he stood up and glanced at the gun in his hand and at the eager manbefore him. He slid the weapon in his belt and drew his hand across hisfast-closing eyes. Cursing streaks of profanity, he staggered to thedoor and landed in a heap in the street from the force of Hopalong'skick. Struggling to his feet, he ran unsteadily down the block anddisappeared around a corner. 

The bartender, cool and unperturbed, pushed out three glasses on histreat: "I've seen yu afore, up in Cheyenne--'member? How's yore friendRed?" He asked as he filled the glasses with the best the houseafforded. 

"Well, shore 'nuff! Glad to see yu, Jimmy! What yu doin' away off here?"Asked Hopalong, beginning to feel at home. 

"Oh, jest filterin' round like. I'm awful glad to see yu--this yere wartof a town needs siftin' out. It was only last week I was wishin' one ofyore bunch 'ud show up--that ornament yu jest buffaloed shore raised th'devil in here, an' I wished I had somebody to prospect his anatomy for alead mine. But he's got a tough gang circulating with him. Ever hear ofDutch Shannon or Blinky Neary? They's with him. "

"Dutch Shannon? Nope, " he replied. 

"Bad eggs, an' not a-carin' how they gits square. Th' feller yu' saltedyesterday was a bosom friend of th' marshal's, an' he passed in hischips last night. "

"So?"

"Yep. Bought a bottle of ready-made nerve an' went to his own funeral. Aristotle Smith was lookin' fer him up in Cheyenne last year. Aristotlesaid he'd give a century fer five minutes' palaver with him, but heshied th' town an' didn't come back. Yu know Aristotle, don't yu? He'sth' geezer that made fame up to Poison Knob three years ago. He used togo to town ridin' astride a log on th' lumber flume. Made four miles insix minutes with th' promise of a ruction when he stopped. Once whenhe was loaded he tried to ride back th' same way he came, an' th'first thing he knowed he was three miles farther from his supper an'a-slippin' down that valley like he wanted to go somewhere. He swum outat Potter's Dam an' it took him a day to walk back. But he didn't makethat play again, because he was frequently sober, an' when he wasn'the'd only stand off an' swear at th' slide. "

"That's Aristotle, all hunk. He's th' chap that used to play checkerswith Deacon Rawlins. They used empty an' loaded shells for men, an' whenthey got a king they'd lay one on its side. Sometimes they'd jar th'board an' they'd all be kings an' then they'd have a cussin' match, "replied Hopalong, once more restored to good humor. 

"Why, " responded Jimmy, "he counted his wealth over twice by mistake an'shore raised a howl when he went to blow it--thought he's been robbed, an' laid behind th' houses fer a week lookin' fer th' feller that doneit. "

"I've heard of that cuss--he shore was th' limit. What become of him?"Asked the miner. 

"He ambled up to Laramie an' stuck his head in th' window of that jointby th' plaza an' hollered 'Fire, ' an' they did. He was shore a goodfeller, all th' same, " answered the bartender. Hopalong laughed andstarted for the door. Turning around he looked at his miner friend andasked: "Comin' along? I'm goin' back now. "

"Nope. Reckon I'll hit th' tiger a whirl. I'll stop in when I passes. "

"All right. So long, " replied Hopalong, slipping out of the door andwatching for trouble. There was no opposition shown him, and he arrivedat his claim to find Jake in a heated argument with another of the gang. 

"Here he comes now, " he said as Hopalong walked up. "Tell him what yusaid to me. "

"I said yu made a mistake, " said the other, turning to the cowboy in ahalf apologetic manner. 

"An' what else?" Insisted Jake. 

"Why, ain't that all?" Asked the claim-jumper's friend in feignedsurprise, wishing that he had kept quiet. 

"Well I reckons it is if yu can't back up yore words, " responded Jake inopen contempt. 

Hopalong grabbed the intruder by the collar of his shirt and hauled himoff the claim. "Yu keep off this, understand? I just kicked yore marshalout in th' street, an' I'll pay yu th' next call. If yu rambles in rangeof my guns yu'll shore get in th' way of a slug. Yu an' yore gang wantsto browse on th' far side of th' range or yu'll miss a sunrise somemornin'. Scoot!"

Hopalong turned to his companion and smiled. "What'd he say?" He askedgenially. 

"Oh, he jest shot off his mouth a little. They's all no good. I'vecollided with lots of them all over this country. They can't face a goodman an' keep their nerve. What'd yu say to th' marshal?"

"I told him what he was an' threw him outen th' street, " repliedHopalong. "In about two weeks we'll have a new marshal an' he'll shorebe a dandy. "

"Yes? Why don't yu take th' job yoreself? We're with yu. "

"Better man comin'. Ever hear of Buck Peters or Red Connors of th'Bar-20, Texas?"

"Buck Peters? Seems to me I have. Did he punch fer th' Tin-Cup up inMontana, 'bout twenty years back?"

"Shore! Him and Frenchy McAllister punched all over that country an'they used to paint Cheyenne, too, " replied Hopalong, eagerly. 

"I knows him, then. I used to know Frenchy, too. Are they comin' uphere?"

"Yes, " responded Hopalong, struggling with another can while waiting forthe fire to catch up. "Better have some grub with me--don't like to eatalone, " invited the cowboy, the reaction of his late rage swinging himto the other extreme. 

When their tobacco had got well started at the close of the meal andcontent had taken possession of them Hopalong laughed quietly andfinally spoke:

"Did yu ever know Aristotle Smith when yu was up in Montana?"

"Did I! Well, me an' Aristotle prospected all through that country tillhe got so locoed I had to watch him fer fear he'd blow us both up. Hegreased th' fryin' pan with dynamite one night, an' we shore had to eatjerked meat an' canned stuff all th' rest of that trip. What made yuask? Is he comin' up too?"

"No, I reckons not. Jimmy, th' bartender, said that he cashed in upat Laramie. Wasn't he th' cuss that built that boat out there on th'Arizona desert because he was scared that a flood might come? Th' sunshore warped that punt till it wasn't even good for a hencoop. "

"Nope. That was Sister--Annie Tompkins. He was purty near as bad asAristotle, though. He roped a puma up on th' Sacramentos, an' didn'tpunch no more fer three weeks. Well, here comes my pardner an' I reckonsI'll amble right along. If yu needs any referee or a side pardner in anyruction yu has only got to warble up my way. So long. "

The next ten days passed quietly, and on the afternoon of the eleventhHopalong's miner friend paid him a visit. 

"Jake recommends yore peaches, " he laughed as he shook Hopalong's hand. "He says yu boosted another of that crowd. That bein' so I thought Iwould drop in an' say that they're comin' after yu to-night, shore. Justheard of it from yore friend Jimmy. Yu can count on us when th' rushcomes. But why didn't yu say yu was a pard of Buck Peters'? Me an' himused to shoot up Laramie together. From what yore friend James says, yucan handle this gang by yore lonesome, but if yu needs any encouragementyu make some sign an' we'll help th' event along some. They's eight ofus that'll be waitin' up to get th' returns an' we're shore goin' to bein range. "

"Gee, it's nice to run across a friend of Buck's! Ain't he ason-of-a-gun?" Asked Hopalong, delighted at the news. Then, withoutwaiting for a reply, he went on: "Yore shore square, all right, an' Ihates to refuse yore offer, but I got eighteen friends comin' up an'they ought to get here by tomorrow. Yu tell Jimmy to head them this waywhen they shows up an' I'll have th' claim for them. There ain't nouse of yu fellers gettin' mixed up in this. Th' bunch that's comin' canclean out any gang this side of sunup, an' I expects they'll shore beanxious to begin when they finds me eatin' peaches an' wastin' my timeshootin' bums. Yu pass th' word along to yore friends, an' tell them tolay low an' see th' Arory Boerallis hit this town with its tail up. TellJimmy to do it up good when he speaks about me holdin' th' claim--I likesto see Buck an' Red fight when they're good an' mad. "

The miner laughed and slapped Hopalong on the shoulder. "Yore all right, youngster! Yore just like Buck was at yore age. Say now, I reckons hewasn't a reg'lar terror on wheels! Why, I've seen him do more foolishthings than any man I knows of, an' I calculate that if Buck palswith yu there ain't no water in yore sand. My name's Tom Halloway, " hesuggested. 

"An' mine's Hopalong Cassidy, " was the reply. "I've heard Buck speak ofyu. "

"Has yu? Well, don't it beat all how little this world is? Somebodyallus turnin' up that knows somebody yu knows. I'll just amble along, Mr. Cassidy, an' don't yu be none bashful about callin' if yu needs me. Any pal of Buck's is my friend. Well, so long, " said the visitor as hestrode off. Then he stopped and turned around. "Hey, mister!" hecalled. "They are goin' to roll a fire barrel down agin yu from behind, "indicating by an outstretched arm the point from where it would start. "If it burns yu out I'm goin' to take a band from up there, " pointing toa cluster of rocks well to the rear of where the crowd would work from, "an' I don't care whether yu likes it or not, " he added to himself. 

Hopalong scratched his head and then laughed. Taking up a pick andshovel, he went out behind the cabin and dug a trench parallel with andabout twenty paces away from the rear wall. Heaping the excavated dirtup on the near side of the cut, he stepped back and surveyed his laborwith open satisfaction. "Roll yore fire barrel an' be dogged, " hemuttered. "Mebby she won't make a bully light for pot shots, though, " headded, grinning at the execution he would do. 

Taking up his tools, he went up to the place from where the gang wouldroll the barrel, and made half a dozen mounds of twigs, being careful tomake them very flimsy. Then he covered them with earth and packedthem gently. The mounds looked very tempting from the view-point of amarksman in search of earth-works, and appeared capable of stopping anyrifle ball that could be fired against them. Hopalong looked them overcritically and stepped back. 

"I'd like to see th' look on th' face of th' son-of-a-gun that uses themfor cover--won't he be surprised" and he grinned gleefully as he picturedhis shots boring through them. Then he placed in the center of each achip or a pebble or something that he thought would show up well in thefirelight. 

Returning to the cabin, he banked it up well with dirt and gravel, and tossed a few shovelfuls up on the roof as a safety valve to hisexuberance. When he entered the door he had another idea, and fell towork scooping out a shallow cellar, deep enough to shelter him whenlying at full length. Then he stuck his head out of the window andgrinned at the false covers with their prominent bull's-eyes. 

"When that prize-winnin' gang of ossified idiots runs up agin' thesefortifications they shore will be disgusted. I'll bet four dollars an'seven cents they'll think their medicine-man's no good. I hopes thatpuff-eyed marshal will pick out that hump with th' chip on it, " and hehugged himself in anticipation. 

He then cut down a sapling and fastened it to the roof and on it hetied his neckerchief, which fluttered valiantly and with defiance inthe light breeze. "I shore hopes they appreciates that, " he remarkedwhimsically, as he went inside the hut and closed the door. 

The early part of the evening passed in peace, and Hopalong, tired ofwatching in vain, wished for action. Midnight came, and it was not untilhalf an hour before dawn that he was attacked. Then a noise sent him toa loophole, where he fired two shots at skulking figures some distanceoff. A fusillade of bullets replied; one of them ripped through the doorat a weak spot and drilled a hole in a can of the everlasting peaches. Hopalong set the can in the frying pan and then flitted from loophole toloophole, shooting quick and straight. Several curses told him that hehad not missed, and he scooped up a finger of peach juice. Shots thuddedinto the walls of his fort in an unceasing stream, and, as it grewlighter, several whizzed through the loopholes. He kept close to theearth and waited for the rush, and when it came sent it back, minus twoof its members. 

As he reloaded his Colts a bullet passed through his shirt sleeve and hepromptly nailed the marksman. He looked out of a crack in the rear walland saw the top of an adjoining hill crowned with spectators, all ofwhom were armed. Some time later he repulsed another attack and heard afaint cheer from his friends on the hill. Then he saw a barrel, blazingfrom end to end, roll out from the place he had so carefully coveredwith mounds. It gathered speed and bounded over the rough ground, flashed between two rocks and leaped into the trench, where it crackledand roared in vain. 

"Now, " said Hopalong, blazing at the mounds as fast as he could fire hisrifle, "we'll just see what yu thinks of yore nice little covers. "

Yells of consternation and pain rang out in a swelling chorus, and legsand arms jerked and flopped, one man, in his astonishment at the shotthat tore open his cheek, sitting up in plain sight of the marksman. Roars of rage floated up from the main body of the besiegers, and thediscomfited remnant of barrel-rollers broke for real cover. 

Then he stopped another rush from the front, made upon the suppositionthat he was thinking only of the second detachment. A hearty cheer arosefrom Tom Halloway and his friends, ensconced in their rocky position, and it was taken up by those on the hill, who danced and yelled theirdelight at the battle, to them more humorous than otherwise. 

This recognition of his prowess from men of the caliber of his audiencemade him feel good, and he grinned: "Gee, I'll bet Halloway an' hisfriends is shore itchin' to get in this, " he murmured, firing at a headthat was shown for an instant. "Wonder what Red'll say when Jimmy tellshim--bet he'll plow dust like a cyclone, " and Hopalong laughed, picturingto himself the satiation of Red's anger. "Old red-headed son-of-a-gun, "murmured the cowboy affectionately, "he shore can fight. "

As he squinted over the sights of his rifle his eye caught sight of amoving body of men as they cantered over the flats about two miles away. In his eagerness he forgot to shoot and carefully counted them. "Nine, "he grumbled. "Wonder what's th' matter?" Fearing that they were nothis friends. Then a second body numbering eight cantered into sight andfollowed the first. 

"Whoop! There's th' Red-head!" he shouted, dancing in his joy. "Now, "he shouted at the peach can joyously, "yu wait about thirty minutes an'yu'll shore reckon Hades has busted loose!"

He grabbed up his Colts, which he kept loaded for repelling rushes, andrecklessly emptied them into the bushes and between the rocks and trees, searching every likely place for a human target. Then he slipped hisrifle in a loophole and waited for good shots, having worked off thedangerous pressure of his exuberance. 

Soon he heard a yell from the direction of the "Miner's Rest, " and fellto jamming cartridges into his revolvers so that he could sally out andjoin in the fray by the side of Red. 

The thunder of madly pounding hoofs rolled up the trail, and soon ahorse and rider shot around the corner and headed for the copse. Threemore raced close behind and then a bunch of six, followed by the rest, spread out and searched for trouble. 

Red, a Colt in each hand and hatless, stood up in his stirrups andsent shot after shot into the fleeing mob, which he could not follow onaccount of the nature of the ground. Buck wheeled and dashed down thetrail again with Red a close second, the others packed in a solid massand after them. At the first level stretch the newcomers swept downand hit their enemies, going through them like a knife through cheese. Hopalong danced up and down with rage when he could not find his horse, and had to stand and yell, a spectator. 

The fight drifted in among the buildings, where it became a series ofisolated duels, and soon Hopalong saw panic-stricken horses carryingtheir riders out of the other side of the town. Then he went gunning forthe man who had rustled his horse. He was unsuccessful and returned tohis peaches. 

Soon the riders came up, and when they saw Hopalong shove a peach intohis powder-grimed mouth they yelled their delight. 

"Yu old maverick! Eatin' peaches like yu was afraid we'd git some!"shouted Red indignantly, leaping down and running up to his pal asthough to thrash him. 

Hopalong grinned pleasantly and fired a peach against Red's eye. "Iwas savin' that one for yu, Reddie, " he remarked, as he avoided Buck'splayful kick. "Yu fellers git to work an' dig up some wealth--I'mhungry. " Then he turned to Buck: "Yore th' marshal of this town, an' anyson-of-a-gun what don't like it had better write. Oh, yes, here comesTom Halloway--'member him?"

Buck turned and faced the miner and his hand went out with a jerk. 

"Well, I'll be locoed if I didn't punch with yu on th' Tin-Cup!" hesaid. 

"Yu shore did an' yu was purty devilish, but that there Cassidy of yournbeats anything I ever seen. "

"He's a good kid, " replied Buck, glancing to where Red and Hopalong werequarreling as to who had eaten the most pie in a contest held some yearsbefore. 

Johnny, nosing around, came upon the perforated and partially scatteredpiles of earth and twigs, and vented his disgust of them by kicking themto pieces. "Hey! Hoppy! Oh, Hoppy!" he called, "what are these things?"

Hopalong jammed Red's hat over that person's eyes and replied: "Oh, them's some loaded dice I fixed for them. "

"Yu son-of-a-gun!" sputtered Red, as he wrestled with his friend in theexuberance of his pride. "Yu son-of-a-gun! Yu shore ought to be ashamedto treat 'em that way!"

"Shore, " replied Hopalong. "But I ain't!"

CHAPTER XII. The Hospitality of Travennes

Mr. Buck Peters rode into Alkaline one bright September morning andsought refreshment at the Emporium. Mr. Peters had just finished somebusiness for his employer and felt the satisfaction that comes withthe knowledge of work well done. He expected to remain in Alkalinefor several days, where he was to be joined by two of his friends andpunchers, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy and Mr. Red Connors, both of whom wereat Cactus Springs, seventy miles to the east. Mr. Cassidy and his friendhad just finished a nocturnal tour of Santa Fe and felt somewhat peevishand dull in consequence, not to mention the sadness occasioned bythe expenditure of the greater part of their combined capital on suchfoolishness as faro, roulette and wet-goods. 

Mr. Peters and his friends had sought wealth in the Black Hills, wherethey had enthusiastically disfigured the earth in the fond expectationof uncovering vast stores of virgin gold. Their hopes were of anoptimistic brand and had existed until the last canister of cornmealflour had been emptied by Mr. Cassidy's burro, which waited not uponit's master's pleasure nor upon the ethics of the case. When Mr. Cassidyhad returned from exercising the animal and himself over two miles ofrocky hillside in the vain endeavor to give it his opinion of burros andsundry chastisements, he was requested, as owner of the beast, togive his counsel as to the best way of securing eighteen breakfasts. Remembering that the animal was headed north when he last saw it andthat it was too old to eat, anyway, he suggested a plan which hadworked successfully at other times for other ends, namely, poker. Mr. McAllister, an expert at the great American game, volunteered hisservice in accordance with the spirit of the occasion and, half an hourlater, he and Mr. Cassidy drifted into Pell's poker parlors, whichwere located in the rear of a Chinese laundry, where they gathered untothemselves the wherewithal for the required breakfasts. An hour spentin the card room of the "Hurrah" convinced its proprietor that they hadwasted their talents for the past six weeks in digging for gold. The proof of this permitted the departure of the outfits with theircustomary elan. 

At Santa Fe the various individuals had gone their respective ways, toreassemble at the ranch in the near future, and for several days theyhad been drifting south in groups of twos and threes and, like chaffupon a stream, had eddied into Alkaline, where Mr. Peters had foundthem arduously engaged in postponing the final journey. After he hadgladdened their hearts and soothed their throats by making several pithyremarks to the bartender, with whom he established their credit, hecautioned them against letting any one harm them and, smiling at thehumor of his warning, left abruptly. 

Cactus Springs was burdened with a zealous and initiative organizationknown as vigilantes, whose duty it was to extend the courtesies of theland to cattle thieves and the like. This organization boasted of thename of Travennes' Terrors and of a muster roll of twenty. There wasalso a boast that no one had ever escaped them which, if true, was inmany cases unfortunate. Mr. Slim Travennes, with whom Mr. Cassidy hadparticipated in an extemporaneous exchange of Colt's courtesies inSanta Fe the year before, was the head of the organization and was alsochairman of the committee on arrivals, and the two gentlemen of theBar-20 had not been in town an hour before he knew of it. 

Being anxious to show the strangers every attention and having a keenrecollection of the brand of gun-play commanded by Mr. Cassidy, heplanned a smoother method of procedure and one calculated to permit himto enjoy the pleasures of a good old age. Mr. Travennes knew that horsethieves were regarded as social enemies, that the necessary proof oftheir guilt was the finding of stolen animals in their possession, thatdeath was the penalty and that every man, whether directly concerned ornot, regarded, himself as judge, jury and executioner. 

He had several acquaintances who were bound to him by his knowledge ofcrimes they had committed and would could not refuse his slightest wish. Even if they had been free agents they were not above causing the deathof an innocent man. Mr. Travennes, feeling very self-satisfied at hiscleverness, arranged to have the proof placed where it would do the mostharm and intended to take care of the rest by himself. 

Mr. Connors, feeling much refreshed and very hungry, arose at daylightthe next morning, and dressing quickly, started off to feed and waterthe horses. After having several tilts with the landlord about thebucket he took his departure toward the corral at the rear. Peeringthrough the gate, he could hardly believe his eyes. He climbed over itand inspected the animals at close range, and found that those which heand his friend had ridden for the last two months were not to beseen, but in their places were two better animals, which concerned himgreatly. Being fair and square himself, he could not understand thechange and sought enlightenment of his more imaginative and suspiciousfriend. 

"Hey, Hopalong!" he called, "come out here an' see what th' blazes hashappened!"

Mr. Cassidy stuck his auburn head out of the wounded shutter andcomplacently surveyed his companion. Then he saw the horses and lookedhard. 

"Quit yore foolin', yu old cuss, " he remarked pleasantly, as he gropedaround behind him with his feet, searching for his boots. "Anybody wouldthink yu was a little boy with yore fool jokes. Ain't yu ever goin' togrow up?"

"They've got our bronch, " replied Mr. Connors in an injured tone. "Honest, I ain't kiddin' yu, " he added for the sake of peace. 

"Who has?" Came from the window, followed immediately by, "Yu've got myboots!"

"I ain't--they're under th' bunk, " contradicted and explained Mr. Connors. Then, turning to the matter in his mind he replied, "I don'tknow who's got them. If I did do yu think I'd be holdin' hands withmyself?"

"Nobody'd accuse yu of anything like that, " came from the window, accompanied by an overdone snicker. 

Mr. Connors flushed under his accumulated tan as he remembered thevaried pleasures of Santa Fe, and he regarded the bronchos in anythingbut a pleasant state of mind. 

Mr. Cassidy slid through the window and approached his friend, lookingas serious as he could. 

"Any tracks?" He inquired, as he glanced quickly over the ground to seefor himself. 

"Not after that wind we had last night. They might have growed there forall I can see, " growled Mr. Connors. 

"I reckon we better hold a pow-wow with th' foreman of this shack an'find out what he knows, " suggested Mr. Cassidy. "This looks too good tobe a swap. "

Mr. Connors looked his disgust at the idea and then a light broke inupon him. "Mebby they was hard pushed an' wanted fresh cayuses, " hesaid. "A whole lot of people get hard pushed in this country. Anyhow, we'll prospect th' boss. "

They found the proprietor in his stocking feet, getting the breakfast, and Mr. Cassidy regarded the preparations with open approval. He countedthe tin plates and found only three, and, thinking that there would bemore plates if there were others to feed, glanced into the landlord'sroom. Not finding signs of other guests, on whom to lay the blame forthe loss of his horse, he began to ask questions. 

"Much trade?" He inquired solicitously. 

"Yep, " replied the landlord. 

Mr. Cassidy looked at the three tins and wondered if there had ever beenany more with which to supply his trade. "Been out this morning?" hepursued. 

"Nope. "

"Talks purty nigh as much as Buck, " thought Mr. Cassidy, and then saidaloud, "Anybody else here?"

"Nope. "

Mr. Cassidy lapsed into a painful and disgusted silence and his friendtried his hand. 

"Who owns a mosaic bronch, Chinee flag on th' near side, Skillet brand?"asked Mr. Connors. 

"Quien sabe?"

"Gosh, he can nearly keep still in two lingoes, " thought Mr. Cassidy. 

"Who owns a bob-tailed pinto, saddle-galled, cast in th' near eye, StarDiamond brand, white stockin' on th' off front prop, with a habit ofscratchin' itself every other minute?" went on Mr. Connors. 

"Slim Travennes, " replied the proprietor, flopping a flapjack. Mr. Cassidy reflectively scratched the back of his hand and looked innocent, but his mind was working overtime. 

"Who's Slim Travennes?" Asked Mr. Connors, never having heard of thatperson, owing to the reticence of his friend. 

"Captain of th' vigilantes. "

"What does he look like on th' general run?" Blandly inquired Mr. Cassidy, wishing to verify his suspicions. He thought of the troublehe had with Mr. Travennes up in Santa Fe and of the reputation thatgentleman possessed. Then the fact that Mr. Travennes was the leaderof the local vigilantes came to his assistance and he was sure thatthe captain had a hand in the change. All these points existed in mistygroups in his mind, but the next remark of the landlord caused them torush together and reveal the plot. 

"Good, " said the landlord, flopping another flapjack, "and a warnin' tohoss thieves. 

"Ahem, " coughed Mr. Cassidy and then continued, "is he a tall, lanky, yaller-headed son-of-a-gun, with a big nose an' lots of ears?"

"Mebby so, " answered the host. 

"Urn, slopping over into bad Sioux, " thought Mr. Cassidy, and then saidaloud, "How long has he hung around this here layout?" At the same timepassing a warning glance at his companion. 

The landlord straightened up. "Look here, stranger, if yu hankers afterhis pedigree so all-fired hard yu had best pump him. "

"I told yu this here feller wasn't a man what would give away all heknowed, " lied Mr. Connors, turning to his friend and indicating thehost. "He ain't got time for that. Anybody can see that he is a powerfulbusy man. An' then he ain't no child. "

Mr. Cassidy thought that the landlord could tell all he knew in aboutfive minutes and then not break any speed records for conversation, buthe looked properly awed and impressed. "Well, yu needn't go an' get madabout it! I didn't know, did I?"

"Who's gettin' mad?" Pugnaciously asked Mr. Connors. After his injuredfeelings had been soothed by Mr. Cassidy's sullen silence he againturned to the landlord. 

"What did this Travennes look like when yu saw him last?" Coaxed Mr. Connors. 

"Th' same as he does now, as yu can see by lookin' out of th' window. That's him down th' street, " enlightened the host, thawing to thepleasant Mr. Connors. 

Mr. Cassidy adopted the suggestion and frowned. Mr. Travennes and twocompanions were walking toward the corral and Mr. Cassidy once againslid out of the window, his friend going by the door. 

CHAPTER XIII. Travennes' Discomfiture

When Mr. Travennes looked over the corral fence he was much chagrined tosee a man and a Colt both paying strict attention to his nose. 

"Mornin', Duke, " said the man with the gun. "Lose anything?"

Mr. Travennes looked back at his friends and saw Mr. Connors sitting ona rock holding two guns. Mr. Travennes' right and left wings were thetargets and they pitted their frowns against Mr. Connors' smile. 

"Not that I knows of, " replied Mr. Travennes, shifting his feetuneasily. 

"Find anything?" Came from Mr. Cassidy as he sidled out of the gate. 

"Nope, " replied the captain of the Terrors, eying the Colt. "Are yu inthe habit of payin' early mornin' calls to this here corral?" persistedMr. Cassidy, playing with the gun. 

"Ya-as. That's my business--I'm th' captain of the vigilantes. "

"That's too bad, " sympathized Mr. Cassidy, moving forward a step. 

Mr. Travennes looked put out and backed off. "What yu mean, stickin' meup this-away?" He asked indignantly. 

"Yu needn't go an' get mad, " responded Mr. Cassidy. "Just business. Yorecayuse an' another shore climbed this corral fence last night an' ate upour bronchs, an' I just nachurly want to know about it. "

Mr. Travennes looked his surprise and incredulity and craned his neck tosee for himself. When he saw his horse peacefully scratching itself heswore and looked angrily up the street. Mr. Connors, behind the shack, was hidden to the view of those on the street, and when two men ran upat a signal from Mr. Travennes, intending to insert themselves in themisunderstanding, they were promptly lined up with the first two by theman on the rock. 

"Sit down, " invited Mr. Connors, pushing a chunk of air out of the waywith his guns. The last two felt a desire to talk and to argue the caseon its merits, but refrained as the black holes in Mr. Connors' gunshinted at eruption. "Every time yu opens yore mouths yu gets closer toth' Great Divide, " enlightened that person, and they were childlike intheir belief. 

Mr. Travennes acted as though he would like to scratch his thigh wherehis Colt's chafed him, but postponed the event and listened to Mr. Cassidy, who was asking questions. 

"Where's our cayuses, General?"

Mr. Travennes replied that he didn't know. He was worried, for hefeared that his captor didn't have a secure hold on the hammer of theubiquitous Colt's. 

"Where's my cayuse?" Persisted Mr. Cassidy. 

"I don't know, but I wants to ask yu how yu got mine, " replied Mr. Travennes. 

"Yu tell me how mine got out an' I'll tell yu how yourn got in, "countered Mr. Cassidy. 

Mr. Connors added another to his collection before the captain replied. 

"Out in this country people get in trouble when they're found with otherfolks' cayuses, " Mr. Travennes suggested. 

Mr. Cassidy looked interested and replied: "Yu shore ought to borrowsome experience, an' there's lots floating around. More than one man hassmoked in a powder mill, an' th' number of them planted who looked inth' muzzle of a empty gun is scandalous. If my remarks don't perculateright smart I'll explain. "

Mr. Travennes looked down the street again, saw number five added to theline-up, and coughed up chunks of broken profanity, grieving his host byhis lack of courtesy. 

"Time, " announced Mr. Cassidy, interrupting the round. "I wants themcayuses an' I wants 'em right now. Yu an' me will amble off an' get'em. I won't bore yu with tellin' yu what'll happen if yu gets skittish. Slope along an' don't be scared; I'm with yu, " assured Mr. Cassidy as helooked over at Mr. Connors, whose ascetic soul pined for the flapjacksof which his olfactories caught intermittent whiffs. 

"Well, Red, I reckons yu has got plenty of room out here for all yu maycorral; anyhow there ain't a whole lot more. My friend Slim an' I areshore going to have a devil of a time if we can t find them cussedbronchs. Whew, them flapjacks smell like a plain trail to payday. Justthink of th' nice maple juice we used to get up to Cheyenne on themfrosty mornings. "

"Get out of here an' lemme alone! 'What do yu allus want to go an' makea feller unhappy for? Can't yu keep still about grub when yu knows Iain't had my morning's feed yet?" Asked Mr. Connors, much aggrieved. 

"Well, I'll be back directly an' I'll have them cayuses or a scalp. Yutend to business an' watch th' herd. That shorthorn yearling at th'end of th' line"--pointing to a young man who looked capable of takingrisks--"he looks like he might take a chance an' gamble with yu, "remarked Mr. Cassidy, placing Mr. Travennes in front of him andpushing back his own sombrero. "Don't put too much maple juice on themflapjacks, Red, " he warned as he poked his captive in the back of theneck as a hint to get along. Fortunately Mr. Connors' closing remarksare lost to history. 

Observing that Mr. Travennes headed south on the quest, Mr. Cassidyreasoned that the missing bronchos ought to be somewhere in the north, and he postponed the southern trip until such time when they wouldhave more leisure at their disposal. Mr. Travennes showed a stronginclination to shy at this arrangement, but quieted down underpersuasion, and they started off toward where Mr. Cassidy firmlybelieved the North Pole and the cayuses to be. 

"Yu has got quite a metropolis here, " pleasantly remarked Mr. Cassidyas under his direction they made for a distant corral. "I can seefour different types of architecture, two of 'em on one residence, " hecontinued as they passed a wood and adobe hut. "No doubt the railroadwill put a branch down here some day an' then yu can hire their old carsfor yore public buildings. Then when yu gets a post-office yu will shoremake Chicago hustle some to keep her end up. Let's assay that hollow forhorse-hide; it looks promisin'. "

The hollow was investigated but showed nothing other than cactus andbaked alkali. The corral came next, and there too was emptiness. For anhour the search was unavailing, but at the end of that time Mr. Cassidybegan to notice signs of nervousness on the part of his guest, whichgrew less as they proceeded. Then Mr. Cassidy retraced their steps tothe place where the nervousness first developed and tried another wayand once more returned to the starting point. 

"Yu seems to hanker for this fool exercise, " quoth Mr. Trayennes withmuch sarcasm. "If yu reckons I'm fond of this locoed ramblin' yu shoreneeds enlightenment. "

"Sometimes I do get these fits, " confessed Mr. Cassidy, "an' when Ido I'm dead sore on objections. Let's peek in that there hut, " hesuggested. 

"Huh; yore ideas of cayuses are mighty peculiar. Why don't you look for'em up on those cactuses or behind that mesquite? I wouldn't be a heapsurprised if they was roostin' on th' roof. They are mighty knowinganimals, cayuses. I once saw one that could figger like a schoolmarm, "remarked Mr. Travennes, beginning sarcastically and toning it down as heproceeded, out of respect for his companion's gun. 

"Well, they might be in th' shack, " replied Mr. Cassidy. "Cayuses knowso much that it takes a month to unlearn them. I wouldn't like to betthey ain't in that hut, though. "

Mr. Travennes snickered in a manner decidedly uncomplimentary and beganto whistle, softly at first. The gentleman from the Bar-20 noticed thathis companion was a musician; that when he came to a strong part heincreased the tones until they bid to be heard at several hundred yards. When Mr. Travennes had reached a most passionate part in "Juanita" andwas expanding his lungs to do it justice he was rudely stopped by theinsistent pressure of his guard's Colt's on the most ticklish part ofhis ear. 

"I shore wish yu wouldn't strain yoreself thataway, " said Mr. Cassidy, thinking that Mr. Travennes might be endeavoring to call assistance. "Iwent an' promised my mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't let nobodywhistle out loud like that, an' th' opery is hereby stopped. Besides, somebody might hear them mournful tones an' think that something is th'matter, which it ain't. "

Mr. Travennes substituted heartfelt cursing, all of which was heavilyaccented. 

As they approached the hut Mr. Cassidy again tickled his prisoner andinsisted that he be very quiet, as his cayuse was very sensitive tonoise and it might be there. Mr. Cassidy still thought Mr. Travennesmight have friends in the hut and wouldn't for the world disturb them, as he would present a splendid target as he approached the building. 

CHAPTER XIV. The Tale of a Cigarette

The open door revealed three men asleep on the earthen floor, two ofwhom were Mexicans. Mr. Cassidy then for the first time felt calledupon to relieve his companion of the Colt's which so sorely itched thatgentleman's thigh and then disarmed the sleeping guards. 

"One man an' a half, " murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in his creed thatit took four Mexicans to make one Texan. 

In the far corner of the room were two bronchos, one of which tried invain to kick Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away. Thenoise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their feet, their hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the weaponswhich peeked contentedly from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy's open shirt. Oneof the Mexicans made a lightning-like grab for the back of his neck forthe knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the front of hisneck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the knife flashedpast Mr. Cassidy's arm, wide by two feet, and thudded into the doorframe, where it hummed angrily. 

"The only man who could do that right was th' man who invented it, Mr. Bowie, of Texas, " explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then heglanced at the broncho, that was squealing in rage and fear at the shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small room, and laughed. 

"That's my cayuse, all right, an' he wasn't up no cactus nor roostin' onth' roof, neither. He's th' most affectionate beast I ever saw. It tookme nigh onto six months afore I could ride him without fighting him to astandstill, " said Mr. Cassidy to his guest. Then he turned to the horseand looked it over. "Come here! What d'yu mean, acting thataway? Yuragged end of nothin' wobbling in space! Yu wall-eyed, ornery, locoedguide to Hades! Yu won't be so frisky when yu've made them seventy hotmiles between here an' Alkaline in five hours, " he promised, as he madehis way toward the animal. 

Mr. Travennes walked over to the opposite wall and took down a pouchof tobacco which hung from a peg. He did this in a manner suggestingownership, and after he had deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand heput the pouch in his pocket and, lighting up, inhaled deeply and withmuch satisfaction. Mr. Cassidy turned around and glanced the group over, wondering if the tobacco had been left in the hut on a former call. 

"Did yu find yore makings?" He asked, with a note of congratulations inhis voice. 

"Yep. Want one?" Asked Mr. Travennes. 

Mr. Cassidy ignored the offer and turned to the guard whom he had foundasleep. 

"Is that his tobacco?" He asked, and the guard, anxious to makeeverything run smoothly, told the truth and answered:

"Shore. He left it here last night, " whereupon Mr. Travennes swore andMr. Cassidy smiled grimly. 

"Then yu knows how yore cayuse got in an' how mine got out, " said thelatter. "I wish yu would explain, " he added, fondling his Colts. 

Mr. Travennes frowned and remained silent. 

"I can tell yu, anyhow, " continued Mr. Cassidy, still smiling, but hiseyes and jaw belied the smile. "Yu took them cayuses out because yuwanted yourn to be found in their places. Yu remembered Santa Fe an'it rankled in yu. Not being man enough to notify me that yu'd shoot onsight an' being afraid my friends would get yu if yu plugged me on th'sly, yu tried to make out that me an' Red rustled yore cayuses. Thatmeant a lynching with me an' Red in th' places of honor. Yu never sawRed afore, but yu didn't care if he went with me. Yu don't deserve fairplay, but I'm going to give it to yu because I don't want anybody to saythat any of th' Bar-20 ever murdered a man, not even a skunk like yu. My friends have treated me too square for that. Yu can take this gun anyu can do one of three things with it, which are: walk out in th' opena hundred paces an' then turn an walk toward me--after you face me yu canset it a-going whenever yu want to; the second is, put it under yore hatan' I'll put mine an' th' others back by the cayuses. Then we'll tossup an' th' lucky man gets it to use as he wants. Th' third is, shootyourself. "

Mr. Cassidy punctuated the close of his ultimatum by handing the weapon, muzzle first, and, because the other might be an adept at "twirling, "he kept its recipient covered during the operation. Then, placing hissecond Colt's with the captured weapons, he threw them through the door, being very careful not to lose the drop on his now armed prisoner. 

Mr. Travennes looked around and wiped the sweat from his forehead, andbeing an observant gentleman, took the proffered weapon and walked tothe east, directly toward the sun, which at this time was halfway to themeridian. The glare of its straight rays and those reflected from theshining sand would, in a measure, bother Mr. Cassidy and interfere withthe accuracy of his aim, and he was always thankful for small favors. 

Mr. Travennes was the possessor of accurate knowledge regarding the layof the land, and the thought came to him that there was a small but deephole out toward the east and that it was about the required distanceaway. This had been dug by a man who had labored all day in the burningsun to make an oven so that he could cook mesquite root in the mannerhe had seen the Apaches cook it. Mr. Travennes blessed hobbies, specificand general, stumbled thoughtlessly and disappeared from sight as thesurprised Mr. Cassidy started forward to offer his assistance. 

Upon emphatic notification from the man in the hole that his help wasnot needed, Mr. Cassidy wheeled around and in great haste covered thedistance separating him from the hut, whereupon Mr. Travennes sworein self-congratulation and regret. Mr. Cassidy's shots barked a cactuswhich leaned near Mr. Travennes' head and flecked several clouds ofalkali near that person's nose, causing him to sneeze, duck, and grin. 

"It's his own gun, " grumbled Mr. Cassidy as a bullet passed through hissombrero, having in mind the fact that his opponent had a whole beltfull of . 44's. If it had been Mr. Cassidy's gun that had been handed overhe would have enjoyed the joke on Mr. Travennes, who would have had fivecartridges between himself and the promised eternity, as he would havebeen unable to use the . 44's in Mr. Cassidy's . 45, while the latter wouldhave gladly consented to the change, having as he did an extra . 45. Neverbefore had Mr. Cassidy looked with reproach upon his . 45 caliber Colt's, and he sighed as he used it to notify Mr. Travennes that arbitrationwas not to be considered, which that person indorsed, said indorsementpassing so close to Mr. Cassidy's ear that he felt the breeze made byit. 

"He's been practicin' since I plugged him up in Santa Fe, " thought Mr. Cassidy, as he retired around the hut to formulate a plan of campaign. 

Mr. Travennes sang "Hi-le, hi-lo, " and other selections, principallyothers, and wondered how Mr. Cassidy could hoist him out. The slack ofhis belt informed him that he was in the middle of a fast, and suggestedstarvation as the derrick that his honorable and disgusted adversarymight employ. 

Mr. Cassidy, while figuring out his method of procedure, absent-mindedlyjabbed a finger in his eye, and the ensuing tears floated an idea tohim. He had always had great respect for ricochet shots since his friendSkinny Thompson had proved their worth on the hides of Sioux. If hecould disturb the sand and convey several grains of it to Mr. Travennes'eyes the game would be much simplified. While planning for the proposedexcavation, a la Colt's, he noticed several stones lying near at hand, and a new and better scheme presented itself for his consideration. If Mr. Travennes could be persuaded to get out of--well, it was worthtrying. 

Mr. Cassidy lined up his gloomy collection and tersely ordered them toturn their backs to him and to stay in that position, the suggestionbeing that if they looked around they wouldn't be able to dodge quicklyenough. He then slipped bits of his lariat over their wrists and ankles, tying wrists to ankles and each man to his neighbor. That finishedto his satisfaction, he dragged them in the hut to save them from theburning rays of the sun. 

Having performed this act of kindness, he crept along the hot sand, taking advantage of every bit of cover afforded, and at last he reacheda point within a hundred feet of the besieged. During the tripMr. Travennes sang to his heart's content, some of the words beingimprovised for the occasion and were not calculated to increase Mr. Cassidy's respect for his own wisdom if he should hear them. Mr. Cassidyheard, however, and several fragments so forcibly intruded on his peaceof mind that he determined to put on the last verse himself and to suithimself. 

Suddenly Mr. Travennes poked his head up and glanced at the hut. He wasdown again so quickly that there was no chance for a shot at him andhe believed that his enemy was still sojourning in the rear of thebuilding, which caused him to fear that he was expected to live onnothing as long as he could and then give himself up. Just to show hisdefiance he stretched himself out on his back and sang with all hismight, his sombrero over his face to keep the glare of the sun out ofhis eyes. 

He was interrupted, however, forgot to finish a verse as he hadintended, and jumped to one side as a stone bounced off his leg. Lookingup, he saw another missile curve into his patch of sky and swiftly beardown on him. He avoided it by a hair's breadth and wondered whathad happened. Then what Mr. Travennes thought was a balloon, beingunsophisticated in matters pertaining to aerial navigation, swooped downupon him and smote him on the shoulder and also bounced off. 

Mr. Travennes hastily laid music aside and took up elocution as hedodged another stone and wished that the mesquite-loving crank had puton a roof. In evading the projectile he let his sombrero appear on alevel with the desert, and the hum of a bullet as it passed through hishead-gear and into the opposite wall made him wish that there had beenconstructed a cellar, also. 

"Hi-le, hi-lo" intruded upon his ear, as Mr. Cassidy got rid of thesurplus of his heart's joy. Another stone the size of a man's footshaved Mr. Travennes' ear and he hugged the side of the hole nearest hisenemy. 

"Hibernate, blank yu!" derisively shouted the human catapult as hereleased a chunk of sandstone the size of a quail. "Draw in yore laigsan' buck, " was his God-speed to the missile. 

"Hey, yu!" indignantly yowled Mr. Travennes from his defective stormcellar. "Don't yu know any better'n to heave things thataway?"

"Hi-le, hi-lo, " sang Mr. Cassidy, as another stone soared aloft in thedirection of the complainant. Then he stood erect and awaited resultswith a Colt's in his hand leveled at the rim of the hole. A hat wavedand an excited voice bit off chunks of expostulation and asked for anarmistice. Then two hands shot up and Mr. Travennes, sore and disgustedand desperate, popped his head up an blinked at Mr. Cassidy's gun. 

"Yu was fillin' th' hole up, " remarked Mr. Travennes in an accusingtone, hiding the real reason for his evacuation. "In a little while I'da 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 besecured the weapon which lay in the hole. Having obtained it as quicklyas possible be slid it in his open shirt and clambered out again. 

"Yu remind me of a feller I used to know, " remarked Mr. Travennes, as heled the way to the hut, trying not to limp. "Only he throwed dynamite. That was th' way he cleared off chaparral--blowed it off. He got so usedto heaving away everything he lit that he spoiled three pipes in twodays. "

Mr. Cassidy laughed at the fiction and then became grave as he picturedMr. Connors sitting on the rock and facing down a line of men, anyone of whom was capable of his destruction if given the interval of asecond. 

When they arrived at the hut Mr. Cassidy observed that the prisoners hadmoved considerably. There was a cleanly swepttrail four yards long wherethey had dragged themselves, and they sat in the end nearer the guns. Mr. Cassidy smiled and fired close to the Mexican's ear, who lost in onefrightened jump a little of what he had so laboriously gained. 

"Yu'll wear out yore pants, " said Mr. Cassidy, and then added grimly, "an' my patience. "

Mr. Travennes smiled and thought of the man who so ably seconded Mr. Cassidy's efforts and who was probably shot by this time. The outfit ofthe Bar-20 was so well known throughout the land that he was aware thename of the other was Red Connors. An unreasoning streak of sarcasmswept over him and he could not resist the opportunity to get in a stabat his captor. 

"Mebby yore pard has wore out somebody's patience, too, " said Mr. Travennes, suggestively and with venom. 

His captor wheeled toward him, his face white with passion, and Mr. Travennes shrank back and regretted the words. 

"I ain't shootin' dogs this here trip, " said Mr. Cassidy, trembling withscorn and anger, "so yu can pull yourself together. I'll give yu anotherchance, but yu wants to hope almighty hard that Red is O. K. If heain't, I'll blow yu so many ways at once that if yu sprouts yu'll makea good acre of weeds. If he is all right yu'd better vamoose this range, for there won't be no hole for yu to crawl into next time. What friendsyu have left will have to tote yu off an' plant yu, " he finished withemphasis. He drove the horses outside, and, after severing the bonds onhis prisoners, lined them up. 

"Yu, " he began, indicating all but Mr. Travennes, "yu amble right smarttoward Canada, " pointing to the north. "Keep a-going till yu gets farenough away so a Colt won't find yu. " Here he grinned with delight as hesaw his Sharp's rifle in its sheath on his saddle and, drawing itforth, he put away his Colts and glanced at the trio, who were alreadyindustriously plodding northward. "Hey!" he shouted, and when theysullenly turned to see what new idea he had found he gleefully waved hisrifle at them and warned them further: "This is a Sharp's an' it's goodfor half a mile, so don't stop none too soon. "

Having sent them directly away from their friends so they could not havehim "potted" on the way back, he mounted his broncho and indicated toMr. Travennes that he, too, was to ride, watching that that person didnot make use of the Winchester which Mr. Connors was foolish enough tocarry around on his saddle. Winchesters were Mr. Cassidy's pet aversionand Mr. Connors' most prized possession, this difference of opinionhaving upon many occasions caused hasty words between them. Mr. Connors, being better with his Winchester than Mr. Cassidy was with his Sharp's, had frequently proved that his choice was the wiser, but Mr. Cassidywas loyal to the Sharp's and refused to be convinced. Now, however, the Winchester became pregnant with possibilities and, therefore, Mr. Travennes rode a few yards to the left and in advance, where the riflewas in plain sight, hanging as it did on the right of Mr. Connors'saddle, which Mr. Travennes graced so well. 

The journey back to town was made in good time and when they came tothe buildings Mr. Cassidy dismounted and bade his companion do likewise, there being too many corners that a fleeing rider could take advantageof. Mr. Travennes felt of his bumps and did so, wishing hard thingsabout Mr. Cassidy. 

CHAPTER XV. The Penalty

While Mr. Travennes had been entertained in the manner narrated, Mr. Connors had passed the time by relating stale jokes to the uproariouslaughter of his extremely bored audience, who had heard the aged effortsmany times since they had first seen the light of day, and most of whomearnestly longed for a drink. The landlord, hearing the hilarity, hadtaken advantage of the opportunity offered to see a free show. Not beingable to see what the occasion was for the mirth, he had pulled on hisboots and made his way to the show with a flapjack in the skilletswhich, in his haste, he had forgotten to put down. He felt sure that hewould be entertained, and he was not disappointed. He rounded the cornerand was enthusiastically welcomed by the hungry Mr. Connors, whoseubiquitous guns coaxed from the skillet its dyspeptic wad. 

"Th' saints be praised!" ejaculated Mr. Connors as a matter of form, not having a very clear idea of just what saints were, but he knew whatflapjacks were and greedily overcame the heroic resistance of the oneprovided by chance and his own guns. As he rolled his eyes in ecstaticcontent the very man Mr. Cassidy had warned him against suddenly aroseand in great haste disappeared around the corner of the corral, fromwhich point of vantage he vented his displeasure at the treatment he hadreceived by wasting six shots at the mortified Mr. Connors. 

"Steady!" sang out that gentleman as the line-up wavered. "He'sa precedent to hell for yu fellers! Don't yu get ambitious, nonewhatever. " Then he wondered how long it would take the fugitive tosecure a rifle and return to release the others by drilling him at longrange. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the vision of a red head that climbedinto view over a rise a short distance off and he grinned his delight asMr. Cassidy loomed up, jaunty and triumphant. Mr. Cassidy was executingcalisthenics with a Colt in the rear of Mr. Travennes' neck and wasleading the horses. 

Mr. Connors waved the skillet and his friend grinned his congratulationsat what the token signified. 

"I see yu got some more, " said Mr. Cassidy, as he went down the line-upfrom the rear and collected nineteen weapons of various makes andconditions, this number being explained by the fact that all but one ofthe prisoners wore two. Then he added the five that had kicked againsthis ribs ever since he had left the hut, and carefully threaded the endof his lariat through the trigger guards. 

"Looks like we stuck up a government supply mule, Red, " he remarked, as he fastened the whole collection to his saddle. "Fourteen colts, sixMerwin-Hulbert's, three Prescott, an' one puzzle, " he added, examiningthe puzzle. "Made in Germany, it says, and it shore looks like it. It'sgot little pins stickin' out of th' cylinder, like you had to swat itwith a hammer or a rock, or somethin' to make it go off. Must be damndangerous, to most anybody around. Looks more like a cactus than asix-shooter-gosh, it's a ten-shooter! I allus said them Dutchmen wasbloody-minded cusses. Think of bein' able to shoot yoreself ten timesbefore th' blame thing stops!" Then looking at the line-up for the ownerof the weapon, he laughed at the woeful countenances displayed. "Didthey sidle in by companies or squads?" He asked. 

"By twos, mostly. Then they parade-rested an' got discharged from duty. I had eleven, but one got homesick, or disgusted, or something, an'deserted. It was that cussed flapjack, " confessed and explained Mr. Connors. 

"What!" said Mr. Cassidy in a loud voice. "Got away! Well, we'll have tomake our get-away plumb sudden or we'll never go. "

At this instant the escaped man again began his bombardment from thecorner of the corral and Mr. Cassidy paused, indignant at the fusilladewhich tore up the dust at his feet. He looked reproachfully at Mr. Connors and then circled out on the plain until he caught a glimpse ofa fleeing cow-puncher, whose back rapidly grew smaller in thefast-increasing distance. 

"That's yore friend, Red, " said Mr. Cassidy as he returned from hisreconnaissance. "He's that short-horn yearling. Mebby he'll come backagain, " he added hopefully. "Anyhow, we've got to move. He'll collectreinforcements an' mebby they all won't shoot like him. Get up on yoreClarinda an' hold th' fort for me, " he ordered, pushing the fartherhorse over to his friend. Mr. Connors proved that an agile man can mounta restless horse and not lose the drop, and backed off three hundredyards, deftly substituting his Winchester for the Colts. Then Mr. Cassidy likewise mounted with his attention riveted elsewhere and backedoff to the side of his companion. 

The bombardment commenced again from the corral, but this time Mr. Connors' rifle slid around in his lap and exploded twice. The bellicosegentleman of the corral yelled in pain and surprise and vanished. 

"Purty good for a Winchester, " said Mr. Cassidy in doubtfulcongratulation. 

"That's why I got him, " snapped Mr. Connors in brief reply, and thenhe laughed. "Is them th' vigilantes what never let a man get away?" Hescornfully asked, backing down the street and patting his Winchester. 

"Well, Red, they wasn't all there. They was only twelve all told, "excused Mr. Cassidy. "An' then we was two, " he explained, as he wishedthe collection of six-shooters was on Mr. Connors' horse so theywouldn't bark his shin. 

"An we still are, " corrected Mr. Connors, as they wheeled and gallopedfor Alkaline. 

As the sun sank low on the horizon Mr. Peters finished orderingprovisions at the general store, the only one Alkaline boasted, andsauntered to the saloon where he had left his men. He found diem a fewdollars richer, as they had borrowed ten dollars from the bartender ontheir reputations as poker players and had used the money to stake Mr. McAllister in a game against the local poker champion. 

"Has Hopalong an' Red showed up yet?" Asked Mr. Peters, frowning at thedelay already caused. 

"Nope, " replied Johnny Nelson, as he paused from tormenting BillyWilliams. 

At that minute the doorway was darkened and Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Connorsentered and called for refreshments. Mr. Cassidy dropped a huge bundleof six-shooters on the floor, making caustic remarks regarding theirutility. 

"What's th' matter?" Inquired Mr. Peters of Mr. Cassidy. "Yu looks madan' anxious. An' where in blazes did yu corral them guns?"

Mr. Cassidy drank deep and then reported with much heat what hadoccurred at Cactus Springs and added that he wanted to go back and wipeout the town, said desire being luridly endorsed by Mr. Connors. 

"Why, shore, " said Mr. Peters, "we'll all go. Such doings must bestopped instanter. " Then he turned to the assembled outfits and askedfor a vote, which was unanimous for war. 

Shortly afterward eighteen angry cowpunchers rode to the east, twored-haired gentlemen well in front and urging speed. It was 8 P. M. Whenthey left Alkaline, and the cool of the night was so delightful that thefeeling of ease which came upon them made them lax and they lost threehours in straying from the dim trail. At eight o'clock the next morningthey came in sight of their destination and separated into two squads, Mr. Cassidy leading the northern division and Mr. Connors the one whichcircled to the south. The intention was to attack from two directions, thus taking the town from front and rear. 

Cactus Springs lay gasping in the excessive heat and the vigilantes whohad toed Mr. Connors' line the day before were lounging in the shade ofthe "Palace" saloon, telling what they would do if they ever faced thesame man again. Half a dozen sympathizers offered gratuitous condolenceand advice and all were positive that they knew where Mr. Cassidy andMr. Connors would go when they died. 

The rolling thunder of madly pounding hoofs disturbed their post-mortemand they arose in a body to flee from half their number, who, guns inhands, charged down upon them through clouds of sickly white smoke. Travennes' Terrors were minus many weapons and they could not beexpected to give a glorious account of themselves. Windows rattled andfell in and doors and walls gave off peculiar sounds as they grew fullof holes. Above the riot rattled the incessant crack of Colt's andWinchester, emphasized at close intervals by the assertive roar ofbuffalo guns. Off to the south came another rumble of hoofs and Mr. Connors, leading the second squad, --arrived to participate in thepayment of the debt. 

Smoke spurted from windows and other points of vantage and hung waveringin the heated air. The shattering of woodwork told of heavy slugsfinding their rest, and the whines that grew and diminished in the airsang the course of . 45s. 

While the fight raged hottest Mr. Nelson sprang from his horse and ranto the "Palace, " where he collected and piled a heap of tinder likewood, and soon the building burst out in flames, which, spreading, sweptthe town from end to end. 

Mr. Cassidy fired slowly and seemed to be waiting for something. Mr. Connors laid aside his hot Winchester and devoted his attention to hisColts. A spurt of flame and smoke leaped from the window of a 'dobehut and Mr. Connors sat down, firing as he went. A howl from the windowinformed him that he had made a hit, and Mr. Cassidy ran out and draggedhim to the shelter of a near-by bowlder and asked how much he was hurt. 

"Not much--in the calf, " grunted Mr. Connors. "He was a bad shot--musthave been the cuss that got away yesterday, " speculated the injuredman as he slowly arose to his feet. Mr. Cassidy dissented from force ofhabit and returned to his station. Mr. Travennes, who was sleepinglate that morning, coughed and fought for air in his sleep, awakened insmoke, rubbed his eyes to make sure and, scorning trousers and shirt, ran clad in his red woolen undergarments to the corral, where he mountedhis scared horse and rode for the desert and safety. 

Mr. Cassidy, swearing at the marksmanship of a man who fired at his headand perforated his sombrero, saw a crimson rider sweep down upon him, said rider being heralded by a blazing . 44. 

"Gosh!" ejaculated Mr. Cassidy, scarcely believing his eyes. "Oh, it'smy friend Slim going to hades, " he remarked to himself in audible andrelieved explanation. Mr. Cassidy's Colts cracked a protest and then hejoined Mr. Peters and the others and with them fought his way out of theflame-swept town of Cactus Springs. 

An hour later Mr. Connors glanced behind him at the smoke silhouetted onthe horizon and pushed his way to where Mr. Cassidy rode in silence. Mr. Connors grinned at his friend of the red hair, who responded in the samemanner. 

"Did yu see Slim?" Casually inquired Mr. Connors, looking off to thesouth. 

Mr. Cassidy sat upright in his saddle and felt of his Colts. "Yes, " hereplied, "I saw him. "

Mr. Connors thereupon galloped on in silence. 

CHAPTER XVI. Rustlers on the Range

The affair at Cactus Springs had more effect on the life at the Bar-20than was realized by the foreman. News travels rapidly, and certainmen, whose attributes were not of the sweetest, heard of it and sworevengeance, for Slim Travennes had many friends, and the result of hispassing began to show itself. Outlaws have as their strongest defensethe fear which they inspire, and little time was lost in makingreprisals, and these caused Buck Peters to ride into Buckskin one brightOctober morning and then out the other side of the town. Coming tohimself with a start he looked around shamefacedly and retraced hiscourse. He was very much troubled, for, as foreman of the Bar-20, hehad many responsibilities, and when things ceased to go aright he wasexpected not only to find the cause of the evil, but also the remedy. That was what he was paid seventy dollars a month for and that was whathe had been endeavoring to do. As yet, however, he had only accomplishedwhat the meanest cook's assistant had done. He knew the cause of hispresent woes to be rustlers (cattle thieves), and that was all. 

Riding down the wide, quiet street, he stopped and dismounted before theever-open door of a ramshackle, one-story frame building. Tossing thereins over the flattened ears of his vicious pinto he strode into thebuilding and leaned easily against the bar, where he drummed with hisfingers and sank into a reverie. 

A shining bald pate, bowed over an open box, turned around andrevealed a florid face, set with two small, twinkling blue eyes, as theproprietor, wiping his hands on his trousers, made his way to Buck's endof the bar. 

"Mornin', Buck. How's things?"

The foreman, lost in his reverie, continued to stare out the door. 

"Mornin', " repeated the man behind the bar. "How's things?"

"Oh!" ejaculated the foreman, smiling, "purty cussed. "

"Anything flew?"

"Th' C-80 lost another herd last night. "

His companion swore and placed a bottle at the foreman's elbow, butthe latter shook his head. "Not this mornin'--I'll try one of them vilecigars, however. "

"Them cigars are th' very best that--" began the proprietor, executingthe order. 

"Oh, heck!" exclaimed Buck with weary disgust. "Yu don't have to palavernone: I shore knows all that by heart. "

"Them cigars--" repeated the proprietor. 

"Yas, yas; them cigars--I know all about them cigars. Yu gets them fortwenty dollars a thousand an' hypnotizes us into payin' yu a hundred, "replied the foreman, biting off the end 'of his weed. Then he staredmoodily and frowned. "I wonder why it is?" He asked. "We punchers likegood stuff an' we pays good prices with good money. What do we get? Why, cabbage leaves an' leather for our smokin' an' alcohol an' extract forour drink. Now, up in Kansas City we goes to a sumptious layout, paysless an' gets bang-up stuff. If yu smelled one of them K. C. Cigars yu'dshore have to ask what it was, an' as for the liquor, why, yu'd thinkSt. Peter asked yu to have one with him. It's shore wrong somewhere. "

"They have more trade in K. C. , " suggested the proprietor. 

"An' help, an' taxes, an' a license, an' rent, an' brass, cut glass, mahogany an' French mirrors, " countered the foreman. 

"They have more trade, " reiterated the man with the cigars. 

"Forty men spend thirty dollars apiece with yu every month. " Theproprietor busied himself under the bar. "Yu'll feel better to-morrow. Anyway, what do yu care, yu won't lose yore job, " he said, emerging. 

Buck looked at him and frowned, holding back the words which formed inanger. What was the use, he thought, when every man judged the world inhis own way. 

"Have yu seen any of th' boys?" He asked, smiling again. 

"Nary a boy. Who do yu reckon's doin' all this rustlin'?"

"I'm reckonin', not shoutin', " responded the foreman. 

The proprietor looked out the window and grinned: "Here comes one ofyourn now. "

The newcomer stopped his horse in a cloud of dust, playfully kicked theanimal in the ribs and entered, dusting the alkali from him with a hugesombrero. Then he straightened up and sniffed: "What's burnin'?" heasked, simulating alarm. Then he noticed the cigar between the teeth ofhis foreman and grinned: "Gee, but yore a brave man, Buck. "

"Hullo, Hopalong, " said the foreman. "Want a smoke?" Waving his handtoward the box on the bar. 

Mr. Hopalong Cassidy side-stepped and began to roll a cigarette: "Shore, but I'll burn my own--I know what it is. "

"What was yu doin' to my cayuse afore yu come in?" Asked Buck. 

"Nothin', " replied the newcomer. "That was mine what I kicked in th'corrugations. "

"How is it yore ridin' the calico?" Asked the foreman. "I thought yu wasdead stuck on that piebald. "

"That piebald's a goat; he's beein livin' off my pants lately, "responded Hopalong. "Every time I looks th' other way he ambles over andtakes a bite at me. Yu just wait 'til this rustler business is roped, an' branded, an' yu'll see me eddicate that blessed scrapheap intoeatin' grass again. " He swiped Billy's shirt th' other day--took it rightoff th' corral wall, where Billy's left it to dry. Then, seeing Buckraise his eyebrows, he explained: "Shore, he washed it again. That makesthree times since last fall. "

The proprietor laughed and pushed out the ever-ready bottle, butHopalong shoved it aside and told the reason: "Ever since I was up to K. C. I've been spoiled. I'm drinkin' water an' slush. "

"For Pete's sake, has any more of yu fellers been up to K. C. ?" queriedthe proprietor in alarm. 

"Shore: Red an' Billy was up there, too. " responded Hopalong. "Red's gota few remarks to shout to yu about yore pain-killer. Yu better send forsome decent stuff afore he comes to town, " he warned. 

Buck swung away from the bar and looked at his dead cigar. Then heturned to Hopalong. "What did you find?" He asked. 

"Same old story: nice wide trail up to th' Staked Plain--then nothin'. "

"It shore beats me, " soliloquized the foreman. "It shore beats me. "

"Think it was Tamale Jose's old gang?" Asked Hopalong. 

"If it was they took th' wrong trail home--that ain't th' way to Mexico. "

Hopalong tossed aside his half-smoked cigarette. "Well, come on home;what's th' use stewin' over it? It'll come out all O. K. In th' wash. "Then he laughed: "There won't be no piebald waitin' for it. "

Evading Buck's playful blow he led the way to the door, and soonthey were a cloud of dust on the plain. The proprietor, despairing ofcustomers under the circumstances, absent-mindedly wiped oil on the bar, and sought his chair for a nap, grumbling about the way his trade hadfallen off, for there were few customers, and those who did call wereheavy with loss of sleep, and with anxiety, and only paused long enoughto toss off their drink. On the ranges there were occurrences whichtried men's souls. 

For several weeks cattle had been disappearing from the ranges and thelosses had long since passed the magnitude of those suffered when TamaleJose and his men had crossed the Rio Grande and repeatedly levied heavytoll on the sleek herds of the Pecos Valley. Tamale Jose had raided oncetoo often, and prosperity and plenty had followed on the ranches and thelosses had been forgotten until the fall round-ups clearly showed thatrustlers were again at work. 

Despite the ingenuity of the ranch owners and the unceasing vigilanceand night rides of the cow-punchers, the losses steadily increased untilthere was promised a shortage which would permit no drive to the westernterminals of the railroad that year. For two weeks the banks of the RioGrande had been patrolled and sharp-eyed men searched daily for trailsleading southward, for it was not strange to think that the old raiderswere again at work, notwithstanding the fact that they had paid dearlyfor their former depredations. 

The patrols failed to discover anything out of the ordinary and thesearchers found no trails. Then it was that the owners and foremen ofthe four central ranches met in Cowan's saloon and sat closeted togetherfor all of one hot afternoon. 

The conference resulted in riders being dispatched from all the ranchesrepresented, and one of the couriers, Mr. Red Connors, rode north, hisdestination being far-away Montana. All the ranches within a radius ofa hundred miles received letters and blanks and one week later the PecosValley Cattle-Thief Elimination Association was organized and working, with Buck as Chief Ranger. 

One of the outcomes of Buck's appointment was a sudden and markedimmigration into the affected territory. Mr. Connors returned fromMontana with Mr. Frenchy McAllister, the foreman of the Tin-Cup, who wasaccompanied by six of his best and most trusted men. Mr. McAllister andparty were followed by Mr. You-bet Somes, foreman of the Two-X-Two ofArizona, and five of his punchers, and later on the same day Mr. PieWillis, accompanied by Mr. Billy Jordan and his two brothers, arrivedfrom the Panhandle. The O-Bar-O, situated close to the town of MuddyWells, increased its payroll by the addition of nine men, each of whombore the written recommendation of the foreman of the Bar-20. The C-80, Double Arrow and the Three Triangle also received heavy reinforcements, and even Carter, owner of the Barred Horseshoe, far removed from thezone of the depredations, increased his outfits by half their regularstrength. 

Buck believed that if a thing was worth doing at all that it was worthdoing very well, and his acquaintances were numerous and loyal. Thecollection of individuals that responded to the call were noteworthyexamples of "gun-play" and their aggregate value was at par with twicetheir numbers in cavalry. 

Each ranch had one large ranch-house and numerous line-houses scatteredalong the boundaries. These latter, while intended as camps for theoutriders, had been erected in the days, none too remote, when Apaches, Arrapahoes, and even Cheyennes raided southward, and they had beenconstructed with the idea of defense paramount. Upon more than oneoccasion a solitary line-rider had retreated within their adobe wallsand had successfully resisted all the cunning and ferocity of a scoreof paint-bedaubed warriors and, when his outfit had rescued him, emergednone the worse for his ordeal. 

On the Bar-20, Buck placed these houses in condition to withstand seige. Twin barrels of water stood in opposite corners, provisions were storedon the hanging shelves and the bunks once again reveled in untidiness. Spare rifles, in pattern ranging from long-range Sharp's and buffaloguns to repeating rifles, leaned against the walls, and unbroken boxesof cartridges were piled above the bunks. Instead of the lonesomeoutrider, he placed four men to each house, two of whom were to remainat home and hold the house while their companions rode side by side ontheir multi-mile beat. 

There were six of these houses and, instead of returning each night tothe same line-house, the outriders kept on and made the circuit, thus keeping every one well informed and breaking the monotony. Thesemeasures were expected to cause the rustling operations to cease atonce, but the effect was to shift the losses to the Double Arrow, theline-houses of which boasted only one puncher each. Unreasonable economyusually defeats its object. 

The Double Arrow was restricted on the north by the Staked Plain, whichin itself was considered a superb defense. The White Sand Hills formedits eastern boundary and were thought to be second only to the northernprotection. The only reason that could be given for the hithertocomparative immunity from the attacks of the rustlers was that itscattle clung to the southern confines where there were numerous springs, thus making imperative the crossing of its territory to gain the herds. 

It was in line-house No. 3, most remote of all, that Johnny Redmondfought his last fight and was found face down in the half ruined housewith a hole in the back of his head, which proved that one man wasincapable of watching all the loop holes in four walls at once. Theremust have been some casualties on the other side, for Johnny was reputedto be very painstaking in his "gunplay, " and the empty shells which layscattered on the floor did not stand for as many ciphers, of that hisforeman was positive. 

He was buried the day he was found, and the news of his death ranquickly from ranch to ranch and made more than one careless puncherarise and pace the floor in anger. More men came to the Double Arrow andits sentries were doubled. The depredations continued, however, andone night a week later Frank Swift reeled into the ranch-house and fellexhausted across the supper table. Rolling hoof-beats echoed flatlyand died away on the plain, but the men who pursued them returned emptyhanded. The wounds of the unfortunate were roughly dressed and in hisdelirium he recounted the fight. His companion was found literally shotto pieces twenty paces from the door. One wall was found blown in, andthis episode, when coupled with the use of dynamite, was more than couldbe tolerated. 

When Buck had been informed of this he called to him Hopalong Cassidy, Red Connors and Frenchy McAllister, and the next day the three men rodenorth and the contingents of the ranches represented in the Associationwere divided into two squads, one of which was to remain at home andguard the ranches; the other, to sleep fully dressed and armed and neverto stray far from their ranch-houses and horses. These latter would becalled upon to ride swiftly and far when the word came. 

CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Trendley Assumes Added Importance

That the rustlers were working under a well organized system wasevident. That they were directed by a master of the game was ceaselesslybeaten into the consciousness of the Association by the diversity, dashand success of their raids. No one, save the three men whom they haddestroyed, had ever seen them. But, like Tamale Jose, they had raidedonce too often. 

Mr. Trendley, more familiarly known to men as "Slippery, " was thepossessor of a biased conscience, if any at all. Tall, gaunt andweather-beaten and with coal-black eyes set deep beneath hairlesseyebrows, he was sinister and forbidding. Into his forty-five years ofexistence he had crowded a century of experience, and unsavory rumorsabout him existed in all parts of the great West. From Canada to Mexicoand from Sacramento to Westport his name stood for brigandage. Hisoperations had been conducted with such consummate cleverness that inall the accusations there was lacking proof. 

Only once had he erred, and then in the spirit of pure deviltry and inthe days of youthful folly, and his mistake was a written note. Hewas even thought by some to have been concerned in the Mountain MeadowMassacre; others thought him to have been the leader of the band ofoutlaws that had plundered along the Santa Fe Trail in the late '60's. In Montana and Wyoming he was held responsible for the outrages of theband that had descended from the Hole-in-the-Wall territory and for overa hundred miles carried murder and theft that shamed as being weak themost assiduous efforts of zealous Cheyennes. It was in this last raidthat he had made the mistake and it was in this raid that FrenchyMcAllister had lost his wife. 

When Frenchy had first been approached by Buck as to his going in searchof the rustlers he had asked to go alone. This had been denied by theforeman of the Bar-20 because the men whom he had selected to accompanythe scout were of such caliber that their presence could not possiblyform a hindrance. Besides being his most trusted friends they wereregarded by him as being the two best exponents of "gun-play" that theWest afforded. Each was a specialist: Hopalong, expert beyond beliefwith his Colt's six-shooters, was only approached by Red, whoseWinchester was renowned for its accuracy. The three made a perfectcombination, as the rashness of the two younger men would be under thecontrolling influence of a man who could retain his coolness of mindunder all circumstances. 

When Buck and Frenchy looked into each other's eyes there sprang intothe mind of each the same name--Slippery Trendley. Both had spent thegreater part of a year in fruitless search for that person, the foremanof the Tin-Cup in vengeance for the murder of his wife, the blasting ofhis prospects and the loss of his herds; Buck, out of sympathy for hisfriend and also because they had been partners in the Double Y. Now thatthe years had passed and the long-sought-for opportunity was believedto be at hand, there was promised either a cessation of the outrages orthat Buck would never again see his friends. 

When the three mounted and came to him for final instructions Buckforced himself to be almost repellent in order to be capable of coherentspeech. Hopalong glanced sharply at him and then understood, Red was allattention and eagerness and remarked nothing but the words. 

"Have yu ever heard of Slippery Trendley?" Harshly inquired the foreman. 

They nodded, and on the faces of the younger men a glint of hatredshowed itself, but Frenchy wore his poker countenance. 

Buck continued: "Th' reason I asked yu was because I don't want yu tothink yore goin' on no picnic. I ain't shore it's him, but I've hadsome hopeful information. Besides, he is th' only man I knows of who'scapable of th' plays that have been made. It's hardly necessary for meto tell yu to sleep with one eye open and never to get away from yoreguns. Now I'm goin' to tell yu th' hardest part: yu are goin' to searchth' Staked Plain from one end to th' other, an' that's what no whiteman's ever done to my knowledge. 

"Now, listen to this an' don't forget it. Twenty miles north from LastStand Rock is a spring; ten miles south of that bend in Hell Arroyo isanother. If yu gets lost within two days from th' time yu enters th'Plain, put yore left hand on a cactus sometime between sun-up an'noon, move around until yu are over its shadow an' then ride straightahead--that's south. If you goes loco beyond Last Stand Rock, follow th'shadows made before noon--that's th' quickest way to th' Pecos. Yu allknows what to do in a sand-storm, so I won't bore you with that. Repeatall I've told yu, " he ordered and they complied. 

"I'm tellin' yu this, " continued the foreman, indicating the twoauxiliaries, "because yu might get separated from Frenchy. Now Isuggests that yu look around near the' Devils Rocks: I've heard thatthere are several water holes among them, an' besides, they might beturned into fair corrals. Mind yu, I know what I've said sounds damnedidiotic for anybody that has had as much experience with th' StakedPlain as I have, but I've had every other place searched for milesaround. Th' men of all th' ranches have been scoutin' an' th' Plain isth' only place left. Them rustlers has got to be found if we have to digto hell for them. They've taken th' pot so many times that they reckonsthey owns it, an' we've got to at least make a bluff at drawin' cards. Mebby they're at th' bottom of th' Pecos, " here he smiled faintly, "butwherever they are, we've got to find them. I want to holler 'Keno. "

"If you finds where they hangs out come away instanter, " here his facehardened and his eyes narrowed, "for it'll take more than yu threeto deal with them th' way I'm a-hankerin' for. Come right back to th'Double Arrow, send me word by one of their punchers an' get all the restyou can afore I gets there. It'll take me a day to get th' men togetheran' to reach yu. I'm goin' to use smoke signals to call th' otherranches, so there won't be no time lost. Carry all th' water yu can packwhen yu leaves th' Double Arrow an' don't depend none on cactus juice. Yu better take a pack horse to carry it, an' yore grub--yu can shoot itif yu have to hit th' trail real hard. "

The three riders felt of their accouterments, said "So long, " andcantered off for the pack horse and extra ammunition. Then they rodetoward the Double Arrow, stopping at Cowan's long enough to spend somemoney, and reached the Double Arrow at nightfall. Early the next morningthey passed the last line-house and, with the profane well-wishes ofits occupants ringing in their ears, passed onto one of Nature's worstblunders--the Staked Plain. 

CHAPTER XVIII. The Search Begins

As the sun arose it revealed three punchers riding away fromcivilization. On all sides, stretching to the evil-appearing horizon, lay vast blotches of dirty-white and faded yellow alkali and sand. Occasionally a dwarfed mesquite raised its prickly leaves and rustledmournfully. With the exception of the riders and an occasional Gilamonster, no life was discernible. Cacti of all shapes and sizes rearedaloft their forbidding spines or spread out along the sand. All wasdead, ghastly; all was oppressive, startlingly repellent in its sinisterpromise; all was the vastness of desolation. 

Hopalong knew this portion of the desert for ten miles inward--he hadrescued straying cattle along its southern rim--but once beyond thatlimit they would have to trust to chance and their own abilities. Therewere water holes on this skillet, but nine out of ten were death traps, reeking with mineral poisons, colored and alkaline. The two mentioned byBuck could not be depended on, for they came and went, and more than oneluckless wanderer had depended on them to allay his thirst, and had diedfor his trust. 

So the scouts rode on in silence, noting the half-buried skeletons ofcattle which were strewn plentifully on all sides. Nearly three percent, of the cattle belonging to the Double Arrow yearly found deathon this tableland, and the herds of that ranch numbered many thousandheads. It was this which made the Double Arrow the poorest of theranches, and it was this which allowed insufficient sentries in itsline-houses. The skeletons were not all of cattle, for at rare intervalslay the sand-worn frames of men. 

On the morning of the second day the oppression increased with the windand Red heaved a sigh of restlessness. The sand began to skip across theplain, in grains at first and hardly noticeable. Hopalong turned in hissaddle and regarded the desert with apprehension. As he looked hesaw that where grains had shifted handfuls were now moving. His mountevinced signs of uneasiness and was hard to control. 

A gust of wind, stronger than the others, pricked his face and grainsof sand rolled down his neck. The leather of his saddle emitted strangenoises as if a fairy tattoo was being beaten upon it and he raised hishand and pointed off toward the east. The others looked and saw what hadappeared to be a fog rise out of the desert and intervene between themand the sun. As far as eye could reach small whirlwinds formed and brokeand one swept down and covered them with stinging sand. The day becamedarkened and their horses whinnied in terror and the clumps of mesquitetwisted and turned to the gusts. 

Each man knew what was to come upon them and they dismounted, hobbledtheir horses and threw them bodily to the earth, wrapping a blanketaround the head of each. A rustling as of paper rubbing together becamenoticeable and they threw themselves flat upon the earth, their headswrapped in their coats and buried in the necks of their mounts. Foran hour they endured the tortures of hell and then, when the storm hadpassed, raised their heads and cursed Creation. Their bodies burnedas though they had been shot with fine needles and their clothes weremeshes where once was tough cloth. Even their shoes were perforated andthe throat of each ached with thirst. 

Hopalong fumbled at the canteen resting on his hip and gargled his mouthand throat, washing down the sand which wouldn't come up. His friendsdid likewise and then looked around. After some time had elapsed theloss of their pack horse was noticed and they swore again. Hopalong tookthe lead in getting his horse ready for service and then rode around ina circle half a mile in diameter, but returned empty handed. The horsewas gone and with it went their main supply of food and drink. 

Frenchy scowled at the shadow of a cactus and slowly rode toward thenortheast, followed closely by his friends. His hand reached for hisdepleted canteen, but refrained--water was to be saved until the lastminute. 

"I'm goin' to build a shack out here an' live in it, I am!" explodedHopalong in withering irony as he dug the sand out of his ears and alsofrom his sixshooter. "I just nachurally dotes on this, I do!"

The others were too miserable to even grunt and he neatly severed thehead of a Gila monster from its scaly body as it opened it venomous jawsin rage at this invasion of its territory. "Lovely place!" he sneered. 

"You better save them cartridges, Hoppy, " interposed Red as hiscompanion fired again, feeling that he must say something. 

"An' what for?" blazed his friend. "To plug sand storms? Anybody what wefind on this God-forsaken lay-out won't have to be shot--they will commitsuicide an' think it's fun! Tell yu what, if them rustlers hangs out onthis sand range they're better men than I reckons they are. Anybody whathides up here shore earns all he steals. " Hopalong grumbled from forceof habit and because no one else would. His companions understood thisand paid no attention to him, which increased his disgust. 

"What are we up here for?" He asked, belligerently. "Why, because themDouble Arrow idiots can't even watch a desert! We have to do their workfor them an' they hangs around home an' gets slaughtered! Yes, sir!"he shouted, "they can't even take care of themselves when they're inline-houses what are forts. Why, that time we cleaned out them an' th'C-80 over at Buckskin they couldn't help runnin' into singin' lead!"

"Yes, " drawled Red, whose recollection of that fight was vivid. "Yas, an' why?" He asked, and then replied to his own question. "Because yusat up in a barn behind them, Buck played his gun on th' side window, Pete an' Skinny lay behind a rock to one side of Buck, me an' Lankywas across th' Street in front of them, an' Billy an' Johnny was in th'arroyo on th' other side. Cowan laid on his stummick on th' roof of hisplace with a buffalo gun, an' the whole blamed town was agin them. Therewasn't five seconds passed that lead wasn't rippin' through th' wallsof their shack. Th' Houston House wasn't made for no fort, an' besides, they wasn't like th' gang that's punchin' now. That's why. "

Hopalong became cheerful again, for here was a chance to differ from hisfriend. The two loved each other the better the more they squabbled. 

"Yas!" responded Hopalong with sarcasm. "Yas!" he reiterated, drawlingit out. "Yu was in front of them, an' with what? Why, an' old, white-haired, interfering Winchester, that's what! Me an' my Sharp's--"

"Yu and yore Sharp's!" exploded Red, whose dislike for that rifle wasvery pronounced. "Yu and yore Sharp's. "

"Me an' my Sharp's, as I was palaverin' before bein' interrupted, "continued Hopalong, "did more damage in five min--"

"Says yu!" snapped Red with heat. "All yu an yore Sharp's could do wasto cut yore initials in th' back door of their shack, an'----"

"Did more damage in five minutes, " continued Hopalong, "than all th'blasted Winchesters in th' whole damned town. Why--"

"An' then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yournexploded I shore thought th'--"

"Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be avery poor shot) than yu an--"

"I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance. I could seeyore red head--"

"MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of hiscompanion. "MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey, Frenchy, who's got th' reddest hair, me or Red?"

Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them. Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort ofdifferentiating and smiled. "Why, if the tops of yore heads were pokedthrough two holes in a board an' I didn't know which was which, I'dshore make a mistake if I tried to name 'em"

But Red had the last word. "Anyhow, you didn't have a Sharp's in thatfight--you had a . 45-70 Winchester, just like mine!"

Thereupon the discussion was directed at the judge, and the forenoonpassed very pleasantly, Frenchy even smiling in his misery. 

CHAPTER XIX. Hopalong's Decision

Shortly after noon, Hopalong, who had ridden with his head bowed low inmeditation, looked up and slapped his thigh. Then he looked at Red andgrinned. 

"Look ahere, Red, " he began, "there ain't no rustlers with theirheadquarters on this God-forsaken sand heap, an' there never was. Theyhave to have water an' lots of it, too, an' th' nearest of any accountis th' Pecos, or some of them streams over in th' Panhandle. Th'Panhandle is th' best place. There are lots of streams an' lakes overthere an' they're right in a good grass country. Why, an' army couldhide over there an' never be found unless it was hunted for blamed good. Then, again, it's close to the railroad. Up north aways is th' southbranch of th' Santa Fe Trail an' it's far enough away not to botheranybody in th' middle Panhandle. Then there's Fort Worth purty near, an' other trails. Didn't Buck say he had all th' rest of th' countrysearched? He meant th' Pecos Valley an th' Davis Mountains country. Allth' rustlers would have to do if they were in th' Panhandle would be tocross th' Canadian an th' Cimarron an' hit th' trail for th' railroad. Good fords, good grass an' water all th' way, cattle fat when theyare delivered an plenty of room. Th' more I thinks about it th' more Icottons to the Panhandle. "

"Well, it shore does sound good, " replied Red, reflectively. 

"Do yu mean th' Cunningham Lake region or farther north?"

"Just th' other side of this blasted desert: anywhere where there'swater, " responded Hopalong, enthusiastically. "I've been doin' some hotreckonin' for th' last two hours an' this is th' way it looks to me:they drives th' cows up on this skillet for a ways, then turns east an'hits th' trail for home an' water. They can get around th' ca on nearThatcher's Lake by a swing of th' north. I tell yu that's th' only wayout'n this. Who could tell where they turned with th' wind raisin' th'deuce with the trail? Didn't we follow a trail for a ways, an' thenwhat? Why, there wasn't none to follow. We can ride north 'till we walkbehind ourselves an' never get a peek at them. I am in favor of headin'for th' Sulphur Spring Creek district. We can spend a couple of weeks, if we has to, an' prospect that whole region without havin' to cutour' water down to a smell an' a taste an live on jerked beef. If weinvestigates that country we'll find something else than sand storms, poisoned water holes an' blisters. "

"Ain't th' Panhandle full of nesters (farmers)?" Inquired Red, doubtfully. 

"Along th' Canadian an' th' edges, yas; in th' middle, no, " explainedHopalong. "They hang close together on account of th' war-whoops, an'they like th' trails purty well because of there allus bein' somebodypassin'. "

"Buck ought to send some of th' Panhandle boys up there, " suggested Red. "There's Pie Willis an' th' Jordans--they knows th' Panhandle like yuknows poker. "

Frenchy had paid no apparent attention to the conversation up to thispoint, but now he declared himself. "Yu heard what Buck said, didn'tyu?" He asked. "We were told to search th' Staked Plains from one end toth' other an' I'm goin' to do it if I can hold out long enough. I ain'tgoin' to palaver with yu because what yu say can't be denied as far aswisdom is concerned. Yu may have hit it plumb center, but I knows whatI was ordered to do, an' yu can't get me to go over there if you shoutsall night. When Buck says anything, she goes. He wants to know where th'cards are stacked an' why he can't holler 'Keno, ' an' I'm goin' to findout if I can. Yu can go to Patagonia if yu wants to, but yu go alone asfar as I am concerned. "

"Well, it's better if yu don't go with us, " replied Hopalong, taking itfor granted that Red would accompany him. "Yu can prospect this end ofth' game an' we'll be takin' care of th' other. It's two chances nowwhere we only had one afore. "

"Yu go east an' I'll hunt around as ordered, " responded Frenchy. 

"East nothin', " replied Hopalong. "Yu don't get me to wallow in hotalkali an' lose time ridin' in ankle-deep sand when I can hit th' southtrail, skirt th' White Sand Hills an' be in God's country again. I ain'tgoin' to wrastle with no ca on this here trip, none whatever. I'm goin'to travel in style, get to Big Spring by ridin' two miles to where Icould only make one on this stove. Then I'll head north along SulpherSpring Creek an' have water an' grass all th' way, barrin' a fewstretches. While you are bein' fricasseed I'll be streakin' throughcottonwood groves an' ridin' in the creek. "

"Yu'll have to go alone, then, " said Red, resolutely. "Frenchy ain'ta-goin' to die of lonesomeness on this desert if I knows what I'm about, an' I reckon I do, some. Me an' him'll follow out what Buck said, huntaround for a while an' then Frenchy can go back to th' ranch to tellBuck what's up an' I'll take th' trail yu are a-scared of an' meet yu atth' east end of Cunningham Lake three days from now. "

"Yu better come with me, " coaxed Hopalong, not liking what his friendhad said about being afraid of the trail past the ca on and wishing tohave some one with whom to talk on his trip. "I'm goin' to have a nicelong swim to-morrow night, " he added, trying bribery. 

"An' I'm goin' to try to keep from hittin' my blisters, " responded Red. "I don't want to go swimmin' in no creek full of moccasins--I'd rathersleep with rattlers or copperheads. Every time I sees a cotton-mouth Ifeels like I had just sit down on one. 

"I'll flip a coin to see whether yu comes or not, " proposed Hopalong. 

"If yu wants to gamble so bad I'll flip yu to see who draws our paynext month, but not for what you said, " responded Red, choking down thedesire to try his luck. 

Hopalong grinned and turned toward the south. "If I sees Buck afore yudo, I'll tell him yu an' Frenchy are growin' watermelons up near LastStand Rock an' are waitin' for rain. Well, so long, " he said. 

"Yu tell Buck we're obeyin' orders!" shouted Red, sorry that he was notgoing with his bunkie. 

Frenchy and Red rode on in silence, the latter feeling strangelylonesome, for he and the departed man had seldom been separated whenjourneys like this were to be taken. And when in search of pleasure theywere nearly always together. Frenchy, while being very friendly withHopalong, a friendship that would have placed them side by side againstany odds, was not accustomed to his company and did not notice hisabsence. 

Red looked off toward the south for the tenth time and for the tenthtime thought that his friend might return. "He's a son-of-a-gun, " hesoliloquized. 

His companion looked up: "He shore is, an' he's right about this rustlerbusiness, too. But we'll look around for a day or so an' then yu raisedust for th' Lake. I'll go back to th' ranch an' get things primed, sothere'll be no time lost when we get th' word. "

"I'm sorry I went an' said what I did about me takin' th' trail he wasa-scared of, " confessed Red, after a pause. "Why, he ain't a-scared ofnothin'. "

"He got back at yu about them watermelons, so what's th' difference?"Asked Frenchy. "He don't owe yu nothin'. "

An hour later they searched the Devil's Rocks, but found no rustlers. Filling their canteens at a tiny spring and allowing their mounts todrink the remainder of the water, they turned toward Hell Arroyo, whichthey reached at nightfall. Here, also, their search availed them nothingand they paused in indecision. Then Frenchy turned toward his companionand advised him to ride toward the Lake in the night when it wascomparatively cool. 

Red considered and then decided that the advice was good. He rolled acigarette, wheeled and faced the east and spurred forward: "So long, " hecalled. 

"So long, " replied Frenchy, who turned toward the south and departed forthe ranch. 

The foreman of the Bar-20 was cleaning his rifle when he heard thehoof-beats of a galloping horse and he ran around the corner of thehouse to meet the newcomer, whom he thought to be a courier from theDouble Arrow. Frenchy dismounted and explained why he returned alone. 

Buck listened to the report and then, noting the fire which gleamed inhis friend's eyes, nodded his approval to the course. "I reckon it'sTrendley, Frenchy--I've heard a few things since yu left. An' yu canbet that if Hopalong an' Red have gone for him he'll be found. I expectaction any time now, so we'll light th' signal fire. " Then he hesitated;"Yu light it--yu've been waiting a long time for this. "

The balls of smoke which rolled upward were replied to by other ballsat different points on the plain, and the Bar-20 prepared to feed thenumbers of hungry punchers who would arrive within the next twenty-fourhours. 

Two hours had not passed when eleven men rode up from the ThreeTriangle, followed eight hours later by ten from the O-Bar-O. Theoutfits of the Star Circle and the Barred Horseshoe, eighteen in all, came next and had scarcely dismounted when those of the C-80 and theDouble Arrow, fretting at the delay, rode up. With the sixteen fromthe Bar-20 the force numbered seventy-five resolute and pugnaciouscowpunchers, all aching to wipe out the indignities suffered. 

CHAPTER XX. A Problem Solved

Hopalong worried his way out of the desert on a straight line, thuscutting in half the distance he had traveled when going into it. Hecamped that night on the sand and early the next morning took up hisjourney. It was noon when he began to notice familiar sights, and anhour later he passed within a mile of line-house No. 3, Double Arrow. Half an hour later he espied a cow-puncher riding like mad. Thinkingthat an investigation would not be out of place, he rode after the riderand overtook him, when that person paused and retraced his course. 

"Hullo, Hopalong!" shouted the puncher and he came near enough torecognize his pursuer. "Thought yu was farmin' up on th' Staked Plain?"

"Hullo, Pie, " replied Hopalong, recognizing Pie Willis. "What was yuchasin' so hard?"

"Coyote--damn 'em, but can't they go some? They're gettin' so thick we'llshore have to try strichnine an' thin 'em out. "

"I thought anybody that had been raised in th' Panhandle would knowbetter'n to chase greased lightnin', " rebuked Hopalong. "Yu has gotabout as much show catchin' one of them as a tenderfoot has of bustin'an outlawed cayuse. "

"Shore; I know it, " responded Pie, grinning. "But it's fun seem'them hunt th' horizon. What are yu doin' down here an' where are yorepardners?"

Thereupon Hopalong enlightened his inquisitive companion as to what hadoccurred and as to his reasons for riding south. 

Pie immediately became enthusiastic and announced his intentionof accompanying Hopalong on his quest, which intention struck thatgentleman as highly proper and wise. Then Pie hastily turned andplayed at chasing coyotes in the direction of the line-house, where heannounced that his absence would be accounted for by the fact thathe and Hopalong were going on a journey of investigation into thePanhandle. Billy Jordan who shared with Pie the accommodations of thehouse, objected and showed, very clearly, why he was eminently betterqualified to take up the proposed labors than his companions. Thesuggestions were fast getting tangled up with the remarks, when Pie, grabbing a chunk of jerked beef, leaped into his saddle and absolutelyrefused to heed the calls of his former companion and return. He rode towhere Hopalong was awaiting him as if he was afraid he wasn't going tolive long enough to get there. Confiding to his companion that Billywas a "locoed sage hen, " he led the way along the base of the White SandHills and asked many questions. Then they turned toward the east andgalloped hard. 

It had been Hopalong's intention to carry out what he had told Red andto go to Big Spring first and thence north along Sulphur Spring Creek, but to this his guide strongly dissented. There was a short cut, orseveral of them for that matter, was Pie's contention, and any oneof them would save a day's hard riding. Hopalong made no objection toallowing his companion to lead the way over any trail he saw fit, forhe knew that Pie had been born and brought up in the Panhandle, theCunningham Lake district having been his back yard, as it were. So theyfollowed the short cut having the most water and grass, and pounded outa lively tattoo as they raced over the stretches of sand which seemed toslide beneath them. 

"What do yu know about this here business?" Inquired Pie, as they racedpast a chaparral and onto the edge of a grassy plain. 

"Nothin' more'n yu do, only Buck said he thought Slippery Trendley is atth' bottom of it. "

"What!" ejaculated Pie in surprise. "Him!"

"Yore on. An' between yu an' me an' th' Devil, I wouldn't be a heapsurprised if Deacon Rankin is with him, neither. "

Pie whistled: "Are him an' th' Deacon pals?"

"Shore, " replied Hopalong, buttoning up his vest and rolling acigarette. "Didn't they allus hang out together! One watched thatth' other didn't get plugged from behind. It was a sort ofyu-scratch-my-back-an'-I'll-scratch-yourn arrangement. "

"Well, if they still hangs out together, I know where to hunt for ourcows, " responded Pie. "Th' Deacon used to range along th' headwatersof th' Colorado--it ain't far from Cunningham Lake. Thunderation!" heshouted, "I knows th' very ground they're on--I can take yu to th' veryshack!" Then to himself he muttered: "An' that doodlebug Billy Jordanthinkin' he knowed more about th' Panhandle than me!"

Hopalong showed his elation in an appropriate manner and his companiondrank deeply from the proffered flask; Thereupon they treated theirmounts to liberal doses of strap-oil and covered the ground with greatspeed. 

They camped early, for Hopalong was almost worn out from the exertionsof the past few days and the loss of sleep he had sustained. Pie, too excited to sleep and having had unbroken rest for a long period, volunteered to keep guard, and his companion eagerly consented. 

Early the next morning they broke camp and the evening of the same dayfound them fording Sulphur Spring Creek, and their quarry lay only anhour beyond, according to Pie. Then they forded one of the streams whichform the headwaters of the Colorado, and two hours later they dismountedin a cottonwood grove. Picketing their horses, they carefully made theirway through the timber, which was heavily grown with brush, and, afterhalf an hour's maneuvering, came within sight of the further edge. 

Dropping down on all fours, they crawled to the last line of brush andlooked out over an extensive bottoms. At their feet lay a small river, and in a clearing on the farther side was a rough camp, consisting ofabout a dozen leanto shacks and log cabins in the main collection, and afew scattered cabins along the edge. A huge fire was blazing beforethe main collection of huts, and to the rear of these was an indistinctblack mass, which they knew to be the corral. 

At a rude table before the fire more than a score of men were eatingsupper and others could be heard moving about and talking at differentpoints in the background. While the two scouts were learning the lay ofthe land, they saw Mr. Trendley and Deacon Rankin walk out of the cabinmost distant from the fire, and the latter limped. Then they saw two menlying on rude cots, and they wore bandages. Evidently Johnny Redmond hadscored in his fight. 

The odor of burning cowhide came from the corral, accompanied by thesqueals of cattle, and informed them that brands were being blotted out. Hopalong longed to charge down and do some blotting out of another kind, but a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder and he silently wormed hisway after Pie as that person led the way back to the horses. Mounting, they picked their way out of the grove and rode over the plain at awalk. When far enough away to insure that the noise made by their horseswould not reach the ears of those in the camp they cantered toward theford they had taken on the way up. 

After emerging from the waters of the last forded stream, Pie raised hishand and pointed off toward the northwest, telling his companion totake that course to reach Cunningham Lake. He himself would ride south, taking, for the saving of time, a yet shorter trail to the Double Arrow, from where he would ride to Buck. He and the others would meet Hopalongand Red at the split rock they had noticed on their way up. 

Hopalong shook hands with his guide and watched him disappear into thenight. He imagined he could still catch whiffs of burning cowhide andagain the picture of the camp came to his mind. Glancing again at thepoint where Pie had disappeared, he stuffed his sombrero under a strapon his saddle and slowly rode toward the lake. A coyote slunk past himon a time-destroying lope and an owl hooted at the foolishness ofmen. He camped at the base of a cottonwood and at daylight took up hisjourney after a scanty breakfast from his saddle-bags. 

Shortly before noon he came in sight of the lake and looked for hisfriend. He had just ridden around a clump of cotton-woods when he washit on the back with something large and soft. Turning in his saddle, with his Colts ready, he saw Red sitting on a stump, a huge grinextending over his features. He replaced the weapon, said somethingabout fools and dismounted, kicking aside the bundle of grass his friendhad thrown. 

"Yore shore easy, " remarked Red, tossing aside his cold cigarette. "Suppose I was Trendley, where would yu be now?"

"Diggin' a hole to put yu in, " pleasantly replied Hopalong. "If I didn'tknow he wasn't around this part of the country I wouldn't a rode as Idid. "

The man on the stump laughed and rolled a fresh cigarette. Lighting it, he inquired where Mr. Trendley was, intimating by his words that therustler had not been found. 

"About thirty miles to th' southeast, " responded the other. "He'sfigurin' up how much dust he'll have when he gets our cows on th'market. Deacon Rankin is with him, too. "

"Th' deuce!" exclaimed Red, in profound astonishment. 

"Yore right, " replied his companion. Then he explained all thearrangements and told of the camp. 

Red was for riding to the rendezvous at once, but his friend thoughtotherwise and proposed a swim, which met with approval. After enjoyingthemselves in the lake they dressed and rode along the trail Hopalonghad made in coming for his companion, it being the intention ofthe former to learn more thoroughly the lay of the land immediatelysurrounding the camp. Red was pleased with this, and while they rodehe narrated all that had taken place since the separation on the Plain, adding that he had found the trail left by the rustlers after they hadquitted the desert and that he had followed it for the last two hours ofhis journey. It was well beaten and an eighth of a mile wide. 

At dark they came within sight of the grove and picketed their horses atthe place used by Pie and Hopalong. Then they moved forward and the samesight greeted their eyes that had been seen the night before. Keepingwell within the edge of the grove and looking carefully for sentries, they went entirely around the camp and picked out several places whichwould be of strategic value later on. They noticed that the cabin usedby Slippery Trendley was a hundred paces from the main collection ofhuts and that the woods came to within a tenth part of that distanceof its door. It was heavily built, had no windows and faced the wrongdirection. 

Moving on, they discovered the storehouse of the enemy, another temptingplace. It was just possible, if a siege became necessary, for severalof the attacking force to slip up to it and either destroy it by fireor take it and hold it against all comers. This suggested a look at theenemy's water supply, which was the river. A hundred paces separated itfrom the nearest cabin and any rustler who could cross that zone underthe fire of the besiegers would be welcome to his drink. 

It was very evident that the rustlers had no thought of defense, thinking, perhaps, that they were immune from attack with such a wellcovered trail between them and their foes. Hopalong mentally accusedthem of harboring suicidal inclinations and returned with his companionto the horses. They mounted and sat quietly for a while, and then rodeslowly away and at dawn reached the split rock, where they awaited thearrival of their friends, one sleeping while the other kept guard. Thenthey drew a rough map of the camp, using the sand for paper, and laidout the plan of attack. 

As the evening of the next day came on they saw Pie, followed by manypunchers, ride over a rise a mile to the south and they rode out to meethim. 

When the force arrived at the camp of the two scouts they were shown theplan prepared for them. Buck made a few changes in the disposition ofthe men and then each member was shown where he was to go and was toldwhy. Weapons were put in a high state of efficiency, canteens wererefilled and haversacks were somewhat depleted. Then the newcomersturned in and slept while Hopalong and Red kept guard. 

CHAPTER XXI. The Call

At three o'clock the next morning a long line of men slowly filedinto the cottonwood grove, being silently swallowed up by the dark. Dismounting, they left their horses in the care of three of their numberand disappeared into the brush. Ten minutes later forty of the forcewere distributed along the edge of the grove fringing on the bank of theriver and twenty more minutes gave ample time for a detachment of twentyto cross the stream and find concealment in the edge of the woods whichran from the river to where the corral made an effective barrier on thesouth. 

Eight crept down on the western side of the camp and worked their wayclose to Mr. Trendley's cabin door, and the seven who followed thisdetachment continued and took up their positions at the rear of thecorral, where, it was hoped, some of the rustlers would endeavor toescape into the woods by working their way through the cattle in thecorral and then scaling the stockade wall. These seven were from theThree Triangle and the Double Arrow, and they were positive that anysuch attempt would not be a success from the view-point of the rustlers. 

Two of those who awaited the pleasure of Mr. Trendley crept forward, anda rope swished through the air and settled over the stump which lay mostconvenient on the other side of the cabin door. Then the slack movedtoward the woods, raised from the ground as it grew taut and, withthe stump for its axis, swung toward the door, where it rubbed gentlyagainst the rough logs. It was made of braided horsehair, was half aninch in diameter and was stretched eight inches above the ground. 

As it touched the door, Lanky Smith, Hopalong and Red stepped out of theshelter of the woods and took up their positions behind the cabin, Lankybehind the northeast corner where he would be permitted to swing hisright arm. In his gloved right hand he held the carefully arranged coilsof a fifty-foot lariat, and should the chief of the rustlers escapetripping he would have to avoid the cast of the best roper in thesouthwest. 

The two others took the northwest corner and one of them leaned slightlyforward and gently twitched the tripping-rope. The man at the other endfelt the signal and whispered to a companion, who quietly disappeared inthe direction of the river and shortly afterward the mournful cry of awhip-poor-will dirged out on the early morning air. It had hardly diedaway when the quiet was broken by one terrific crash of rifles, and thetwo camp guards asleep at the fire awoke in another world. 

Mr. Trendley, sleeping unusually well for the unjust, leaped from hisbed to the middle of the floor and alighted on his feet and wideawake. Fearing that a plot was being consummated to deprive him of hisleadership, he grasped the Winchester which leaned at the head of hisbed and, tearing open the door, crashed headlong to the earth. As hetouched the ground, two shadows sped out from the shelter of the cabinwall and pounced upon him. Men who can rope, throw and tie a wild steerin thirty seconds flat do not waste time in trussing operations, andbefore a minute had elapsed he was being carried into the woods, bound and helpless. Lanky sighed, threw the rope over one shoulder anddeparted after his friends. 

When Mr. Trendley came to his senses he found himself bound to a tree inthe grove near the horses. A man sat on a stump not far from him, threeothers were seated around a small fire some distance to the north, andfour others, one of whom carried a rope, made their way into the brush. He strained at his bonds, decided that the effort was useless andwatched the man on the stump, who struck a match and lit a pipe. Theprisoner watched the light flicker up and go out and there was left inhis mind a picture that he could never forget. The face which had beenso cruelly, so grotesquely revealed was that of Frenchy McAllister, andacross his knees lay a heavy caliber Winchester. A curse escaped fromthe lips of the outlaw; the man on the stump spat at a firefly andsmiled. 

From the south came the crack of rifles, incessant and sharp. Thereports rolled from one end of the clearing to the other and seemed tosweep in waves from the center of the line to the ends. Faintly in theinfrequent lulls in the firing came an occasional report from the rearof the corral, where some desperate rustler paid for his venture. 

Buck went along the line and spoke to the riflemen, and after some timehad passed and the light had become stronger, he collected the men intogroups of five and six. Taking one group and watching it closely, itcould be seen that there was a world of meaning in this maneuver. Oneman started firing at a particular window in an opposite hut and thenlaid aside his empty gun and waited. When the muzzle of his enemy's guncame into sight and lowered until it had nearly gained its sight level, the rifles of the remainder of the group crashed out in a volley andusually one of the bullets, at least, found its intended billet. Thisvolley firing became universal among the besiegers and the effect wasmarked. 

Two men sprinted from the edge of the woods near Mr. Trendley's cabinand gained the shelter of the storehouse, which soon broke out inflames. The burning brands fell over the main collection of huts, wherethere was much confusion and swearing. The early hour at which theattack had been delivered at first led the besieged to believe thatit was an Indian affair, but this impression was soon corrected by thevolley firing, which turned hope into despair. It was no great matterto fight Indians, that they had done many times and found more or lessenjoyment in it; but there was a vast difference between brave andpuncher, and the chances of their salvation became very small. Theysurmised that it was the work of the cow-men on whom they had preyedand that vengeful punchers lay hidden behind that death-fringe of greenwillow and hazel. 

Red, assisted by his inseparable companion, Hopalong, laboriouslyclimbed up among the branches of a black walnut and hooked one leg overa convenient limb. Then he lowered his rope and drew up the Winchesterwhich his accommodating friend fastened to it. Settling himself in acomfortable position and sheltering his body somewhat by the tree, heshaded his eyes by a hand and peered into the windows of the distantcabins. 

"How is she, Red?" Anxiously inquired the man on the ground. 

"Bully: want to come up?"

"Nope. I'm goin' to catch yu when yu lets go, " replied Hopalong with agrin. 

"Which same I ain't goin' to, " responded the man in the tree. 

He swung his rifle out over a forked limb and let it settle in thecrotch. Then he slew his head around until he gained the bead he wished. Five minutes passed before he caught sight of his man and then he fired. Jerking out the empty shell he smiled and called out to his friend:"One. "

Hopalong grinned and went off to tell Buck to put all the men in trees. 

Night came on and still the firing continued. Then an explosion shookthe woods. The storehouse had blown up and a sky full of burning timberfell on the cabins and soon three were half consumed, their occupantsdropping as they gained the open air. One hundred paces makes finepot-shooting, as Deacon Rankin discovered when evacuation was the choicenecessary to avoid cremation. He never moved after he touched the groundand Red called out: "Two, " not knowing that his companion had departed. 

The morning of the next day found a wearied and hopeless garrison, andshortly before noon a soiled white shirt was flung from a window in thenearest cabin. Buck ran along the line and ordered the firing to ceaseand caused to be raised an answering flag of truce. A full minutepassed and then the door slowly opened and a leg protruded, more slowlyfollowed by the rest of the man, and Cheyenne Charley strode out tothe bank of the river and sat down. His example was followed by severalothers and then an unexpected event occurred. Those in the cabins whopreferred to die fighting, angered at this desertion, opened fire ontheir former comrades, who barely escaped by rolling down the slightlyinclined bank into the river. Red fired again and laughed to himself. Then the fugitives swam down the river and landed under the guns of thelast squad. They were taken to the rear and, after being bound, wereplaced under a guard. There were seven in the party and they looked wornout. 

When the huts were burning the fiercest the uproar in the corral aroseto such a pitch as to drown all other sounds. There were left within itswalls a few hundred cattle whose brands had not yet been blotted out, and these, maddened to frenzy by the shooting and the flames, tore fromone end of the enclosure to the other, crashing against the alternatewalls with a noise which could be heard far out on the plain. Scoreswere trampled to death on each charge and finally the uproar subsidedin sheer want of cattle left with energy enough to continue. When thecorral was investigated the next day there were found the bodies of fourrustlers, but recognition was impossible. 

Several of the defenders were housed in cabins having windows in therear walls, which the occupants considered fortunate. This opinionwas revised, however, after several had endeavored to escape by theseopenings. The first thing that occurred when a man put his head out wasthe hum of a bullet, and in two cases the experimenters lost all need ofescape. 

The volley firing had the desired effect, and at dusk there remainedonly one cabin from which came opposition. Such a fire was concentratedon it that before an hour had passed the door fell in and the firingceased. There was a rush from the side, and the Barred Horseshoe menwho swarmed through the cabins emerged without firing a shot. Theorganization that had stirred up the Pecos Valley ranches had ceased toexist. 

CHAPTER XXII. The Showdown

A fire burned briskly in front of Mr. Trendley's cabin that night andseveral punchers sat around it occupied in various ways. Two men leanedagainst the wall and sang softly of the joys of the trail and the range. One of them, Lefty Allen, of the O-Bar-O, sang in his sweet tenor, andother men gradually strolled up and seated themselves on the ground, where the fitful gleam of responsive pipes and cigarettes showed likefireflies. The songs followed one after another, first a lover's plea insoft Spanish and then a rollicking tale of the cow-towns and men. Supperhad long since been enjoyed and all felt that life was, indeed, wellworth living. 

A shadow loomed against the cabin wall and a procession slowly made itsway toward the open door. The leader, Hopalong, disappeared within andwas followed by Mr. Trendley, bound and hobbled and tied to Red, therear being brought up by Frenchy, whose rifle lolled easily in thecrotch of his elbow. The singing went on uninterrupted and the hum ofvoices between the selections remained unchanged. Buck left the crowdaround the fire and went into the cabin, where his voice was heardassenting to something. Hopalong emerged and took a seat at the fire, sending two punchers to take his place. He was joined by Frenchy andRed, the former very quiet. 

In the center of a distant group were seven men who were not armed. Their belts, half full of cartridges, supported empty holsters. They satand talked to the men around them, swapping notes and experiences, andin several instances found former friends and acquaintances. These menwere not bound and were apparently members of Buck's force. Then one ofthem broke down, but quickly regained his nerve and proposed a gameof cards. A fire was started and several games were immediately inprogress. These seven men were to die at daybreak. 

As the night grew older man after man rolled himself in his blanketand lay down where he sat, sinking off to sleep with a swiftness thatbespoke tired muscles and weariness. All through the night, however, there were twelve men on guard, of whom three were in the cabin. 

At daybreak a shot from one of the guards awakened every man withinhearing, and soon they romped and scampered down to the river's edgeto indulge in the luxury of a morning plunge. After an hour's horseplaythey trooped back to the cabin and soon had breakfast out of the way. 

Waffles, foreman of the O-Bar-O, and You-bet Somes strolled over to theseven unfortunates who had just completed a choking breakfast and noddeda hearty "Good morning. " Then others came up and finally all moved offtoward the river. Crossing it, they disappeared into the grove and allsounds of their advance grew into silence. 

Mr. Trendley, escorted outside for the air, saw the procession as itbecame lost to sight in the brush. He sneered and asked for a smoke, which was granted. Then his guards were changed and the men began tostraggle back from the grove. 

Mr. Trendley, with his back to the cabin, scowled defiantly at the crowdthat hemmed him in. The coolest, most damnable murderer in the West wasnot now going to beg for mercy. When he had taken up crime as a meansof livelihood he had decided that if the price to be paid for his coursewas death, he would pay like a man. He glanced at the cottonwood grove, wherein were many ghastly secrets, and smiled. His hairless eyebrowslooked like livid scars and his lips quivered in scorn and anger. 

As he sneered at Buck there was a movement in the crowd before him and apathway opened for Frenchy, who stepped forward slowly and deliberately, as if on his way to some bar for a drink. There was something differentabout the man who had searched the Staked Plain with Hopalong and Red:he was not the same puncher who had arrived from Montana three weeksbefore. There was lacking a certain air of carelessness and he chilledhis friends, who looked upon him as if they had never really known him. He walked up to Mr. Trendley and gazed deeply into the evil eyes. 

Twenty years before, Frenchy McAllister had changed his identity froma happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care cow-puncher and became a machine. Thegrief that had torn his soul was not of the kind which seeks its outletin tears and wailing; it had turned and struck inward, and now hisdeliberate ferocity was icy and devilish. Only a glint in his eyes toldof exultation, and his words were sharp and incisive; one could wellimagine one heard the click of his teeth as they bit off the consonants:every letter was clear-cut, every syllable startling in its clearness. 

"Twenty years and two months ago to-day, " he began, "you arrived at theranchhouse of the Double Y, up near the Montana-Wyoming line. Everythingwas quiet, except, perhaps, a woman's voice, singing. You entered, andbefore you left you pinned a note to that woman's dress. I found it, andit is due. "

The air of carelessness disappeared from the members of the crowd andthe silence became oppressive. Most of those present knew parts ofFrenchy's story, and all were in hearty accord with anything he mightdo. He reached within his vest and brought forth a deerskin bag. Openingit, he drew out a package of oiled silk and from that he took a paper. Carefully replacing the silk and the bag, he slowly unfolded the sheetin his hand and handed it to Buck, whose face hardened. Two decades hadpassed since the foreman of the Bar-20 had seen that precious sheet, butthe scene of its finding would never fade from his memory. He stood asif carved from stone, with a look on his face that made the crowd shiftuneasily and glance at Trendley. 

Frenchy turned to the rustler and regarded him evilly. "You are thehellish brute that wrote that note, " pointing to the paper in the handof his friend. Then, turning again, he spoke: "Buck, read that paper. "

The foreman cleared his throat and read distinctly:

"McAllister: Yore wife is too blame good to live. 

 TRENDLEY. "

There was a shuffling sound, but Buck and Frenchy, silently backed up byHopalong and Red, intervened, and the crowd fell back, where it surgedin indecision. 

"Gentlemen, " said Frenchy, "I want you to vote on whether any man herehas more right to do with Slippery Trendley as he sees fit than myself. Any one who thinks so, or that he should be treated like the others, step forward. Majority rules. "

There was no advance and he spoke again: "Is there any one here whoobjects to this man dying?"

Hopalong and Red awkwardly bumped their knuckles against their guns andthere was no response. 

The prisoner was bound with cowhide to the wall of the cabin and fourmen sat near and facing him. The noonday meal was eaten in silence, andthe punchers rode off to see about rounding up the cattle that grazedover the plain as far as eye could see. Supper-time came and passed, and busy men rode away in all directions. Others came and relieved theguards, and at midnight another squad took up the vigil. 

Day broke and the thunder of hoofs as the punchers rounded up the cattlebecame very noticeable. One herd swept past toward the south, guardedand guided by fifteen men. Two hours later and another followed, takinga slightly different trail so as to avoid the close-cropped grass leftby the first. At irregular intervals during the day other herds sweptby, until six had passed and denuded the plain of cattle. 

Buck, perspiring and dusty, accompanied by Hopalong and Red, rode upto where the guards smoked and joked. Frenchy came out of the cabinand smiled at his friends. Swinging in his left hand was a newly filledColt's . 45, which was recognized by his friends as the one found in thecabin and it bore a rough "T" gouged in the butt. 

Buck looked around and cleared his throat: "We've got th' cows on th'home trail, Frenchy, " he suggested. 

"Yas?" Inquired Frenchy. "Are there many?"

"Yas, " replied Buck, waving his hand at the guards, ordering them tofollow their friends. "It's a good deal for us: we've done right smartthis hand. An' it's a good thing we've got so many punchers: we got alot of cattle to drive. "

"About five times th' size of th' herd that blamed near made angelsout'en me an' yu, " responded Frenchy with a smile. 

"I hope almighty hard that we don't have no stampedes on this heredrive. If th' last herds go wild they'll pick up th' others, an' thenthere'll be th' devil to pay. "

Frenchy smiled again and shot a glance at where Mr. Trendley was boundto the cabin wall. 

Buck looked steadily southward for some time and then flecked a foam-sudfrom the flank of his horse. "We are goin' south along th' Creek untilwe gets to Big Spring, where we'll turn right smart to th' west. Wewon't be able to average more'n twelve miles a day, 'though I'm goin' todrive them hard. How's yore grub?"

"Grub to burn. "

"Got yore rope?" Asked the foreman of the Bar-20, speaking as if thequestion had no especial meaning. 

Frenchy smiled: "Yes. "

Hopalong absent-mindedly jabbed his spurs into his mount with the resultthat when the storm had subsided the spell was broken and he said "Solong, " and rode south, followed by Buck and Red. As they swept out ofsight behind a grove Red turned in his saddle and waved his hat. Buckdiscussed with assiduity the prospects of a rainfall and was verycheerful about the recovery of the stolen cattle. Red could see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing with his feet spread far apart, swinging aColt's . 45, and Hopalong swore at everything under the sun. Dust arose instreaming clouds far to the south and they spurred forward to overtakethe outfits. 

Buck Peters, riding over the starlit plain, in his desire to reach thefirst herd, which slept somewhere to the west of him under the careof Waffles, thought of the events of the past few weeks and graduallybecame lost in the memories of twenty years before, which crowded upbefore his mind like the notes of a half-forgotten song. His nature, tempered by two decades of a harsh existence, softened as he lived againthe years that had passed and as he thought of the things which hadbeen. He was so completely lost in his reverie that he failed to hearthe muffled hoofbeats of a horse that steadily gained upon him, and whenFrenchy McAllister placed a friendly hand on his shoulder he started asif from a deep sleep. 

The two looked at each other and their hands met. The question whichsprang into Buck's eyes found a silent answer in those of his friend. They rode on side by side through the clear night and together driftedback to the days of the Double Y. 

After an hour had passed, the foreman of the Bar-20 turned to hiscompanion and then hesitated:

"Did, did--was he a cur?"

Frenchy looked off toward the south and, after an interval, replied:"Yas. " Then, as an after thought, he added, "Yu see, he never reckonedit would be that way. "

Buck nodded, although he did not fully understand, and the subject wasforever closed. 

CHAPTER XXIII. Mr. Cassidy Meets a Woman

The work of separating the cattle into herds of the different brandswas not a big contract, and with so many men it took but a comparativelyshort time, and in two days all signs of the rustlers had faded. It wasthen that good news went the rounds and the men looked forward to aweek of pleasure, which was all the sharper accentuated by the grimmercilessness of the expedition into the Panhandle. Here was a chancefor unlimited hilarity and a whole week in which to give strictattention to celebrating the recent victory. 

So one day Mr. Hopalong Cassidy rode rapidly over the plain, thinkingabout the joys and excitement promised by the carnival to be heldat Muddy Wells. With that rivalry so common to Western towns theinhabitants maintained that the carnival was to break all records, thisbecause it was to be held in their town. Perry's Bend and Buckskin hadeach promoted a similar affair, and if this year's festivities wereto be an improvement on those which had gone before, they wouldmost certainly be worth riding miles to see. Perry's Bend had beenunfortunate m being the first to hold a carnival, inasmuch as it onlyset a mark to be improved upon, and Buckskin had taken advantage of thisand had added a brass band, and now in turn was to be eclipsed. 

The events slated were numerous and varied, the most important beingthose which dealt directly with the everyday occupations of theinhabitants of that section of the country. Broncho busting, steer-roping and tying, rifle and revolver shooting, trick riding andfancy roping made up the main features of the programme and were tobe set off by horse and foot racing and other county fair necessities. Altogether, the proud citizens of the town looked forward with keenanticipation to the coming excitements, and were prone to swagger abit and to rub their hands in condescending egoism, while the crowdedgambling halls and saloons, and the three-card-monte men on the streetcorners enriched themselves at the cost of venturesome know-it-ails. 

Hopalong was firmly convinced that his day of hard riding was well worthwhile, for the Bar-20 was to be represented in strength. Probablya clearer insight into his idea of a carnival can be gained by hisdefinition, grouchily expressed to Red Connors on the day following thelast affair: "Raise cain, go broke, wake up an' begin punching cowsall over again. " But that was the day after and the day after is alwaysfilled with remorse. 

Hopalong and Red, having twice in succession won the revolver and riflecompetitions, respectively, hoped to make it 'Three straight. ' LankySmith, the Bar-20 rope expert, had taken first prize in the only contesthe had entered. Skinny Thompson had lost and drawn with Lefty Allen, ofthe O-Bar-O, in the broncho-busting event, but as Skinny had improvedgreatly in the interval, his friends confidently expected him to "yankfirst place" for the honor of his ranch. These expectations were backedwith all the available Bar-20 money, and, if they were not realized, something in the nature of a calamity would swoop down upon and wrapthat ranch in gloom. Since the O-Bar-O was aggressively optimistic thebetting was at even money, hats and guns, and the losers would beginlife anew so far as earthly possessions were concerned. No othercompetitors were considered in this event, as Skinny and Lefty had sofar outclassed all others that the honor was believed to lie betweenthese two. 

Hopalong, blissfully figuring out the chances of the differentcontestants, galloped around a clump of mesquite only fifteen miles fromMuddy Wells and stiffened in his saddle, for twenty rods ahead of him onthe trail was a woman. As she heard him approach she turned and waitedfor him to overtake her, and when she smiled he raised his sombrero andbowed. 

"Will you please tell me where I am?" She asked. 

"Yu are fifteen miles southeast of Muddy Wells, " he replied. 

"But which is southeast?"

"Right behind yu, " he answered. "Th' town lies right ahead. "

"Are you going there?" She asked. 

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Then you will not care if I ride with you?" She asked. "I am a triflefrightened. "

"Why, I'd be some pleased if yu do, 'though there ain't nothing out hereto be afraid of now. "

"I had no intention of getting lost, " she assured him, "but I dismountedto pick flowers and cactus leaves and after a while I had no conceptionof where I was. "

"How is it yu are out here?" He asked. "Yu shouldn't get so far fromtown. "

"Why, papa is an invalid and doesn't like to leave his room, and thetown is so dull, although the carnival is waking it up somewhat. Havingnothing to do I procured a horse and determined to explore the country. Why, this is like Stanley and Livingstone, isn't it? You rescued theexplorer!" And she laughed heartily. He wondered who in thunder Stanleyand Livingstone were, but said nothing. 

"I like the West, it is so big and free, " she continued. "But it is verymonotonous at times, especially when compared with New York. Papaswears dreadfully at the hotel and declares that the food will drive himinsane, but I notice that he eats much more heartily than he did whenin the city. And the service!--it is awful. But when one leaves the townbehind it is splendid, and I can appreciate it because I had such a hardseason in the city last winter--so many balls, parties and theaters thatI simply wore myself out. "

"I never hankered much for them things, " Hopalong replied. "An' I don'tlike th' towns much, either. Once or twice a year I gets as far asKansas City, but I soon tires of it an' hits th' back trail. Yu see, Idon't like a fence country--I wants lots of room an' air. "

She regarded him intently: "I know that you will think me very forward. "

He smiled and slowly replied: "I think yu are all O. K. "

"There do not appear to be many women in this country, " she suggested. 

"No, there ain't many, " he replied, thinking of the kind to be foundin all of the cow-towns. "They don't seem to hanker for this kind oflife--they wants parties an' lots of dancin' an' them kind of things. Ireckon there ain't a whole lot to tempt em to come. 

"You evidently regard women as being very frivolous, " she replied. 

"Well, I'm speakin' from there not being any out here, " he responded, "although I don't know much about them, to tell th' truth. Them what areout here can't be counted. " Then he flushed and looked away. 

She ignored the remark and placed her hand to her hair:

"Goodness! My hair must look terrible!"

He turned and looked: "Yore hair is pretty--I allus did like brown hair. "

She laughed and put back the straggling locks: "It is terrible! Justlook at it! Isn't it awful?"

"Why, no: I reckons not, " he replied critically. "It looks sort of freean' easy thataway. "

"Well, it's no matter, it cannot be helped, " she laughed. "Let's race!"she cried and was off like a shot. 

He humored her until he saw that her mount was getting unmanageable, when he quietly overtook her and closed her pony's nostrils with hishand, the operation having a most gratifying effect. 

"Joe hadn't oughter let yu had this cayuse, " he said. 

"Why, how do you know of whom I procured it?" She asked. "By th' brand:it's a O-Bar-O, canceled, with J. H. Over it. He buys all of his cayusesfrom th' O-Bar-O. "

She found out his name, and, after an interval of silence, she turned tohim with eyes full of inquiry: "What is that thorny shrub just ahead?"She asked. 

"That's mesquite, " he replied eagerly. 

"Tell me all about it, " she commanded. 

"Why, there ain't much to tell, " he replied, "only it's a valuable treeout here. Th' Apaches use it a whole lot of ways. They get honey fromth' blossoms an' glue an' gum, an' they use th' bark for tannin' hide. Th' dried pods an' leaves are used to feed their cattle, an' th' woodmakes corrals to keep 'em in. They use th' wood for making other things, too, an' it is of two colors. Th' sap makes a dye what won't wash out, an' th' beans make a bread what won't sour or get hard. Then it makes abarrier that shore is a dandy-coyotes an' men can't get through it, an'it protects a whole lot of birds an' things. Th' snakes hate it likepoison, for th' thorns get under their scales an' whoops things up for'em. It keeps th' sand from shiftin', too. Down South where there isplenty of water, it often grows forty feet high, but up here it squatsclose to th' ground so it can save th' moisture. In th' night th'temperature sometimes falls thirty degrees, an' that helps it, too. "

"How can it live without water?" She asked. 

"It gets all th' water it wants, " he replied, smiling. "Th' tap rootsgo straight down 'til they find it, sometimes fifty feet. That's why itdon't shrivel up in th' sun. Then there are a lot of little roots rightunder it an' they protects th' tap roots. Th' shade it gives is th'coolest out here, for th' leaves turn with th' wind an' lets th' breezethrough-they're hung on little stems. "

"How splendid!" she exclaimed. "Oh! Look there!" she cried, pointingahead of them. A chaparral cock strutted from its decapitated enemy, arattlesnake, and disappeared in the chaparral. 

Hopalong laughed: "Mr. Scissors-bill Road-runner has great fun withsnakes. He runs along th' sand-an' he can run, too--an' sees a snaketakin' a siesta. Snip! goes his bill an' th' snake slides over th'Divide. Our fighting friend may stop some coyote's appetite beforemorning, though, unless he stays where he is. "

Just then a gray wolf blundered in sight a few rods ahead of them, andHopalong fired instantly. His companion shrunk from him and looked athim reproachfully. 

"Why did you do that!" she demanded. 

"Why, because they costs us big money every year, " he replied. "There'sa bounty on them because they pull down calves, an' sometimes full growncows. I'm shore wonderin' why he got so close--they're usually just outof range, where they stays. "

"Promise me that you will shoot no more while I am with you. 

"Why, shore: I didn't think yu'd care, " he replied. "Yu are like thatsky-pilot over to Las Cruces--he preached agin killin' things, which isall right for him, who didn't have no cows. "

"Do you go to the missions?" She asked. 

He replied that he did, sometimes, but forgot to add that it was usuallyfor the purpose of hilarity, for he regarded sky-pilots with humoroustoleration. 

"Tell me all about yourself--what you do for enjoyment and all about yourwork, " she requested. 

He explained in minute detail the art of punching cows, and told hermore of the West in half an hour than she could have learned from ayear's experience. She showed such keen interest in his words that itwas a pleasure to talk to her, and he monopolized the conversation untilthe town intruded its sprawling collection of unpainted shacks and adobehuts in their field of vision. 

CHAPTER XXIV. The Strategy of Mr. Peters

Hopalong and his companion rode into Muddy Wells at noon, and RedConnors, who leaned with Buck Peters against the side of Tom Lee'ssaloon, gasped his astonishment. Buck looked twice to be sure, and thenmuttered incredulously: "What th' heck!" Red repeated the phrase andretreated within the saloon, while Buck stood his ground, havinghad much experience with women, inasmuch as he had narrowly escapedmarrying. He thought that he might as well get all the informationpossible, and waited for an introduction. It was in vain, however, forthe two rode past without noticing him. 

Buck watched them turn the corner and then called for Red to come out, but that person, fearing an ordeal, made no reply and the foreman wentin after him. The timorous one was corraling bracers at the bar andnearly swallowed down the wrong channel when Buck placed a heavy hand onhis broad shoulder. 

"G'way!" remarked Red. "I don't want no introduction, none whatever, " heasserted. "G'way!" he repeated, backing off suspiciously. 

"Better wait 'til yu are asked, " suggested Buck. "Better wait 'til yusees th' rope afore yu duck. " Then he laughed: "Yu bashful fellers makeme plumb disgusted. Why, I've seen yu face a bunch of guns an never turna hair, an' here yore all in because yu fear yu'll have to standaround an' hide yore hands. She won't bite yu. Anyway, from what I saw, Hopalong is due to be her grub--he never saw me at all, th' chump. "

"He shore didn't see me, none, " replied Red with distinct relief. "Arethey gone?"

"Shore, " answered Buck. "An' if they wasn't they wouldn't see us, notif we stood in front of them an' yelled. She's a hummer-stands two handsunder him an' is a whole lot prettier than that picture Cowan has gotover his bar. There's nothing th' matter with his eyesight, but he'splumb locoed, all th' same. He'll go an' get stuck on her an' thenshe'll hit th' trail for home an' mamma, an' he won't be worth his feedfor a year. " Then he paused in consternation: "Thunder, Red: he's got toshoot to-morrow!"

"Well, suppose he has?" Responded Red. "I don't reckon she'll stampedehis gun-play none. 

"Yu don't reckon, eh?" Queried Buck with much irony. "No, an' that'swhat's th' matter with yu. Why, do yu expect to see him to-morrow? Yuwon't if I knows him an' I reckon I do. Nope, he'll be follerin' her allaround. "

"He's got sand to burn, " remarked Red in awe. "Wonder how he got to knowher?"

"Yu can gamble she did th' introducing part--he ain't got th' nerve todo it himself. He saved her life, or she thinks he did, or some romanticnonsense like that. So yu better go around an' get him away, an' keephim away, too. "

"Who, me?" Inquired Red in indignation. "Me go around an' tote him off?I ain't no wagon: yu go, or send Johnny. "

"Johnny would say something real pert an' get knocked into th' middleof next week for it. He won't do, so I reckon yu better go yoreself, "responded Buck, smiling broadly and moving off. 

"Hey, yu! Wait a minute!" cried Red in consternation. Buck paused andRed groped for an excuse: "Why don't you send Billy?" He blurted indesperation. 

The foreman's smile assumed alarming proportions and he slapped histhigh in joy: "Good boy!" he laughed. "Billy's th' man--good Lord, butwon't he give Cupid cold feet! Rustle around an' send th' pessimisticsoul to me. "

Red, grinning and happy, rapidly visited door after door, shouted, "Hey, Billy!" and proceeded to the next one. He was getting pugnacious athis lack of success when he espied Mr. Billy Williams tacking along theaccidental street as if he owned it. Mr. Williams was executing fancysteps and was trying to sing many songs at once. 

Red stopped and grabbed his bibulous friend as that person veered tostarboard: "Yore a peach of a life-preserver, yu are!" he exclaimed. 

Billy balanced himself, swayed back and forth and frowned hisdispleasure at this unwarranted action: "I ain't no wife-deserter!" heshouted. "Unrope me an' give me th' trail! No tenderfoot can ride me!"Then he recognized his friend and grinned joyously: "Shore I will, butonly one. Jus' one more, jus' one more. Yu see, m'friend, it was allJimmy's fault. He--"

Red secured a chancery hold and dragged his wailing and remonstratingfriend to Buck, who frowned with displeasure. 

"This yere, " said Red in belligerent disgust, "is th' dod-blasted herowhat's a-goin' to save Hopalong from a mournful future. What are wea-goin' to do?"

Buck slipped the Colt's from Billy's holster and yanked the erring oneto his feet: "Fill him full of sweet oil, source him in th' trough, walkhim around for awhile an' see what it does, " he ordered. 

Two hours later Billy walked up to his foreman and weakly asked what waswanted. He looked as though he had just been released from a six-months'stay in a hospital. 

"Yu go over to th' hotel an' find Hopalong, " said the foreman sternly. "Stay with him all th' time, for there is a plot on foot to wing him onth' sly. If yu ain't mighty spry he'll be dead by night. "

Having delivered the above instructions and prevarications, Buckthrottled the laugh which threatened to injure him and scowled at Red, who again fled into the saloon for fear of spoiling it all with revealedmirth. 

The convalescent stared in open-mouthed astonishment:

"What's he doin' in th' hotel, an' who's goin' to plug him?" He asked. 

"Yu leave that to me, " replied Buck, "All yu has to do is to get on th'job with yore gun, " handing the weapon to him, "an' freeze to him likea flea on a cow. Mebby there'll be a woman in th' game, but that ain'tnone of yore funeral--yu do what I said. "

"Blast th' women!" exploded Billy, moving off. When he had entered thehotel Buck went in to Red. 

"For Pete's sake!" moaned that person in senseless reiteration. "Th'Lord help Billy! Holy Mackinaw!" he shouted. "Gimme a drink an' let metell th' boys. "

The members of the outfit were told of the plot and they gave theiruproarious sanction, all needing bracers to sustain them. 

Billy found the clerk swapping lies with the bartender and, procuringthe desired information, climbed the stairs and hunted for room No. 6. Discovering it, he dispensed with formality, pushed open the door andentered. 

He found his friend engaged in conversation with a pretty youngwoman, and on a couch at the far side of the room lay an elderlywhite-whiskered gentleman who was reading a magazine. Billy felt like acriminal for a few seconds and then there came to him the thought thathis was a mission of great import and he braced himself to face anyordeal. "Anyway, " he thought, "th' prettier they are th' more dust theycan raise. "

"What are yu doing here?" Cried Hopalong in amazement. 

"That's all right, " averred the protector, confidentially. 

"What's all right?"

"Why, everything, " replied Billy, feeling uncomfortable. 

The elderly man hastily sat up and dropped his magazine when he sawthe armed intruder, his eyes as wide open as his mouth. He felt forhis spectacles, but did not need them, for he could see nothing but theColt's which Billy jabbed at him. 

"None of that!" snapped Billy. "'ands up!" he ordered, and the hands wentup so quick that when they stopped the jerk shook the room. Peering overthe gentleman's leg, Billy saw the spectacles and backed to the wallas he apologized: "It's shore on me, Stranger--I reckoned yu wascontemplatin' some gun-play. "

Hopalong, blazing with wrath, arose and shoved Billy toward the hail, when Mr. Johnny Nelson, oozing fight and importance, intruded his personinto the zone of action. 

"Lord!" ejaculated the newcomer, staring at the vision of femaleloveliness which so suddenly greeted him. "Mamma, " he added under hisbreath. Then he tore off his sombrero: "Come out of this, Billy, yuchump!" he exploded, backing toward the door, being followed by theprotector. 

Hopalong slammed the door and turned to his hostess, apologizing for thedisturbance. 

"Who are they?" Palpitated Miss Deane. 

"What the deuce are they doing up here!" blazed her father. Hopalongdisclaimed any knowledge of them and just then Billy opened the door andlooked in. 

"There he is again!" cried Miss Deane, and her father gasped. Hopalongran out into the hall and narrowly missed kicking Billy into KingdomCome as that person slid down the stairs, surprised and indignant. 

Mr. Billy Williams, who sat at the top of the stairs, was feeling hungryand thirsty when he saw his friend, Mr. Pete Wilson, the slow witted, approaching. 

"Hey, Pete, " he called, "come up here an' watch this door while Irustles some grub. Keep yore eyes open, " he cautioned. 

As Pete began to feel restless the door opened and a dignified gentlemanwith white whiskers came out into the hall and then retreated with greathaste and no dignity. Pete got the drop on the door and waited. Hopalongyanked it open and kissed the muzzle of the weapon before he could stop, and Pete grinned. 

"Coming to th' fight?" He loudly asked. "It's going to be a shore 'noughsumptious scrap--just th' kind yu allus like. Come on, th' boys arewaitin' for yu. "

"Keep quiet!" hissed Hopalong. 

"What for?" Asked Pete in surprise. "Didn't yu say yu shore wanted tosee that scrap?"

"Shut yore face an' get scarce, or yu'll go home in cans!"

As Hopalong seated himself once more Red strolled up to the door andknocked. Hopalong ripped it open and Red, looking as fierce and worriedas he could, asked Hopalong if he was all right. Upon being assured bysmoking adjectives that he was, the caller looked relieved and turnedthoughtfully away. 

"Hey, yu! Come here!" called Hopalong. 

Red waved his hand and said that he had to meet a man and clattereddown the stairs. Hopalong thought that he, also, had to meet a man and, excusing himself, hastened after his friend and overtook him in theStreet, where he forced a confession. Returning to his hostess he toldher of the whole outrage, and she was angry at first, but seeing thehumorous side of it, she became convulsed with laughter. Her fatherre-read his paragraph for the thirteenth time and then, slamming themagazine on the floor, asked how many times he was expected to read tenlines before he knew what was in them, and went down to the bar. 

Miss Deane regarded her companion with laughing eyes and then becamesuddenly sober as he came toward her. 

"Go to your foreman and tell him that you will shoot to-morrow, for Iwill see that you do, and I will bring luck to the Bar-20. Be sure tocall for me at one o'clock: I will be ready. "

He hesitated, bowed, and slowly departed, making his way to Tom Lee's, where his entrance hushed the hilarity which had reigned. Stridingto where Buck stood, he placed his hands on his hips and searched theforeman's eyes. 

Buck smiled: "Yu ain't mad, are yu?" He asked. 

Hopalong relaxed: "No, but blame near it. "

Red and the others grabbed him from the rear, and when he had been"buffaloed" into good humor he threw them from him, laughed and wavedhis hand toward the bar:

"Come up, yu sons-of-guns. Yore a cussed nuisance sometimes, but yore abully gang all th' same. "

CHAPTER XXV. Mr. Ewalt Draws Cards

Tex Ewalt, cow-puncher, prospector, sometimes a rustler, but always adude, rode from El Paso in deep disgust at his steady losses at faroand monte. The pecuniary side of these caused him no worry, for he wasflush. This pleasing opulence was due to his business ability, forhe had recently sold a claim for several thousand dollars. The firstoperation was simple, being known in Western phraseology as "jumping";and the second, somewhat more complicated, was known as "salting. "

The first of the money spent went for a complete new outfit, and he hadparted with just three hundred and seventy dollars to feed his vanity. He desired something contrasty and he procured it. His sombrero, of grayfelt a quarter of an inch thick, flaunted a band of black leather, onwhich was conspicuously displayed a solid silver buckle. His neck wasprotected by a crimson kerchief of the finest, heaviest silk. His shirt, in pattern the same as those commonly worn in the cow country, was ofbuckskin, soft as a baby's cheek and impervious to water, and the Angoragoatskin chaps, with the long silken hair worn outside, were as whiteas snow. Around his waist ran loosely a broad, black leather beltsupporting a heavy black holster, in which lay its walnut-handledburden, a . 44 caliber six-shooter; and thirty center-fire cartridgespeeked from their loops, fifteen on a side. His boots, the soles thinand narrow and the heels high, were black and of the finest leather. Huge spurs, having two-inch rowels, were held in place by buckskinstraps, on which, also, were silver buckles. Protecting his hands wereheavy buckskin gloves, also waterproof, having wide, black gauntlets. 

Each dainty hock of his dainty eight-hundred-pound buckskin pony wasblack, and a black star graced its forehead. Well groomed, withflowing mane and tail, and with the brand on its flank being almostimperceptible, the animal was far different in appearance from most ofthe cow-ponies. Vicious and high-spirited, it cavorted just enough toshow its lines to the best advantage. 

The saddle, a famous Cheyenne and forty pounds in weight, was black, richly embossed, and decorated with bits of beaten silver which flashedback the sunlight. At the pommel hung a thirty-foot coil of braidedhorsehair rope, and at the rear was a Sharp's . 50-caliber, breech-loadingrifle, its owner having small use for any other make. The color of thebridle was the same as the saddle and it supported a heavy U bit whichwas capable of a leverage sufficient to break the animal's jaw. 

Tex was proud of his outfit, but his face wore a frown--not there only onacount of his losses, but also by reason of his mission, for under allhis finery beat a heart as black as any in the cow country. For monthshe had smothered hot hatred and he was now on his way to ease himself ofit. 

He and Slim Travennes had once exchanged shots with Hopalong in SantaFe, and the month which he had spent in bed was not pleasing, and fromthat encounter had sprung the hatred. That he had been in the wrong madeno difference with him. Some months later he had learned of the deathof Slim, and it was due to the same man. That Slim had again been inthe wrong also made no difference, for he realized the fact and nothingelse. 

Lately he had been told of the death of Slippery Trendley and DeaconRankin, and he accepted their passing as a personal affront. That theyhad been caught red-handed in cattle stealing of huge proportions andreceived only what was customary under the conditions formed no excusein his mind for their passing. He was now on his way to attend thecarnival at Muddy Wells, knowing that his enemy would be sure to bethere. 

While passing through Las Cruces he met Porous Johnson and Silent Somes, who were thirsty and who proclaimed that fact, whereupon he relievedthem of their torment and, looking forward to more treatment of asimilar nature, they gladly accompanied him without asking why or where. 

As they left the town in their rear Tex turned in his saddle andsurveyed them with a cynical smile. 

"Have yu heard anything of Trendley?" He asked. 

They shook their heads. 

"Him an' th' Deacon was killed over in th' Panhandle, " he said. 

"What!" chorused the pair. 

"Jack Dorman, Shorty Danvers, Charley Teale, Stiffhat Bailey, BillyJackson, Terry Nolan an' Sailor Carson was lynched. "

"What!" they shouted. 

"Fish O'Brien, Pinochle Schmidt, Tom Wilkins, Apache Gordon, Charley ofth' Bar Y, Penobscot Hughes an' about twenty others died fightin'. "

Porous looked his astonishment: "Cavalry?"

"An' I'm going after th' dogs who did it, " he continued, ignoring thequestion. "Are yu with me?--Yu used to pal with some of them, didn'tyu?"

"We did, an' we're shore with yu!" cried Porous. 

"Yore right, " endorsed Silent. "But who done it?"

"That gang what's punchin' for th' Bar-20-Hopalong Cassidy is th' oneI'm pining for. Yu fellers can take care of Peters an' Connors. "

The two stiffened and exchanged glances of uncertainty and apprehension. The outfit of the Bar-20 was too well known to cause exuberant joy tospring from the idea of war with it, and well in the center of all thetales concerning it were the persons Tex had named. To deliberatelyset forth with the avowed intention of planting these was not at allcalculated to induce sweet dreams. 

Tex sneered his contempt. 

"Yore shore uneasy: yu ain't a-scared, are yu?" He drawled. Porousrelaxed and made a show of subduing his horse: "I reckon I ain't scaredplumb to death. Yu can deal me a hand, " he asserted. 

"I'll draw cards too, " hastily announced Silent, buttoning his vest. "Tell us about that jamboree over in th' Panhandle. "

Tex repeated the story as he had heard it from a bibulous member of theBarred Horseshoe, and then added a little of torture as a sauce to whettheir appetites for revenge. 

"How did Trendley cash in?" Asked Porous. 

"Nobody knows except that bum from th' Tin-Cup. I'll get him later. I'da got Cassidy up in Santa Fe, too, if it wasn't for th' sun in my eyes. Me an' Slim loosened up on him in th' Plaza, but we couldn't see nothingwith him a-standin' against th' sun. "

"Where's Slim now?" Asked Porous. "I ain't seen him for some time. "

"Slim's with Trendley, " replied Tex. "Cassidy handed him over to St. Pete at Cactus Springs. Him an' Connors sicked their outfit on him an'his vigilantes, bein helped some by th' O-Bar-O. They wiped th' townplumb off th' earth, an' now I'm going to do some wipin' of my ownaccount. I'll prune that gang of some of its blossoms afore long. It'scost me seventeen friends so far, an' I'm going to stop th' leak, ormake another. "

They entered Muddy Wells at sunrise on the day of the carnival and, eating a hearty breakfast, sallied forth to do their share toward makingthe festivities a success. 

The first step considered necessary for the acquirement of case andpolish was begun at the nearest bar, and Tex, being the host, was soliberal that his friends had reached a most auspicious state when theyfollowed him to Tom Lee's. 

Tex was too wise to lose his head through drink and had taken onlyenough to make him careless of consequences. Porous was determined tosing "Annie Laurie, " although he hung on the last word of the firstline until out of breath and then began anew. Silent, not wishing to beoutdone, bawled at the top of his lungs a medley of music-hall words tothe air of a hymn. 

Tex, walking as awkwardly as any cow-puncher, approached Tom Lee's, histwo friends trailing erratically, arm in arm, in his rear. Swinging hisarm he struck the door a resounding blow and entered, hand on gun, as itcrashed back. Porous and Silent stood in the doorway and quarreled asto what each should drink and, compromising, lurched in and seatedthemselves on a table and resumed their vocal perpetrations. 

Tex swaggered over to the bar and tossed a quarter upon it: "Cornjuice, " he laconically exclaimed. Tossing off the liquor and glancingat his howling friends, he shrugged his shoulders and strode out by therear door, slamming it after him. Porous and Silent, recounting friendswho had "cashed in" fell to weeping and they were thus occupied whenHopalong and Buck entered, closely followed by the rest of the outfit. 

Buck walked to the bar and was followed by Hopalong, who declined hisforeman's offer to treat. Tom Lee set a bottle at Buck's elbow andplaced his hands against the bar. 

"Friend of yourn just hit the back trail, " he remarked to Hopalong. "Hewas primed some for trouble, too, " he added. 

"Yaas?" Drawled Hopalong with little interest. 

The proprietor restacked the few glasses and wiped off the bar. "Them'shis pardners, " he said, indicating the pair on the table. 

Hopalong turned his head and gravely scrutinized them. Porous wasbemoaning the death of Slim Travennes and Hopalong frowned. 

"Don't reckon he's no relation of mine, " he grunted. 

"Well, he ain't yore sister, " replied Tom Lee, grinning. 

"What's his brand?" Asked the puncher. 

"I reckon he's a maverick, 'though yu put yore brand on him up to SantaFe a couple of years back. Since he's throwed back on yore range Ireckon he's yourn if yu wants him. "

"I reckon Tex is some sore, " remarked Hopalong, rolling a cigarette. 

"I reckon he is, " replied the proprietor, tossing Buck's quarter in thecash box. "But, say, you should oughter see his rig. "

"Yaas?"

"He's shore a cow-punch dude--my, but he's some sumptious an'highfalutin'. An' bad? Why, he reckons th' Lord never brewed a morehigh-toned brand of cussedness than his'n. He shore reckons he's thebaddest man that ever simmered. "

"How'd he look as th' leadin' man in a necktie festival?" Blazed Johnnyfrom across the room, feeling called upon to help the conversation. 

"He'd be a howlin' success, son, " replied Skinny Thompson, "judgin' byhis friends what we elevated over in th' Panhandle. "

Lanky Smith leaned forward with his elbow on the table, resting his chinin the palm of his hand: "Is Ewalt still a-layin' for yu, Hopalong?" Heasked. 

Hopalong turned wearily and tossed his half-consumed cigarette into thebox of sand which did duty as a cuspidore: "I reckon so; an' he shorecan hatch whenever he gets good an ready, too. "

"He's probably a-broodin' over past grievances, " offered Johnny, ashe suddenly pushed Lanky's elbow from the table, nearly causing acatastrophe. 

"Yu'll be broodin' over present grievances if yu don't look out, yueverlastin' nuisance yu, " growled Lanky, planting his elbow in itsformer position with an emphasis which conveyed a warning. 

"These bantams ruflle my feathers, " remarked Red. "They go aroundbraggin' about th' egg they're goin' to lay an' do enough cacklin'to furnish music for a dozen. Then when th' affair comes off yu'llgenerally find they's been settin' on a door-knob. "

"Did yu ever see a hen leave th' walks of peace an' bugs an' rustlehell-bent across th' trail plumb in front of a cayuse?" Asked Buck. "They'll leave off rustlin' grub an' become candidates for th' graveyardjust for cussedness. Well, a whole lot of men are th' same way. How manytimes have I seen them swagger into a gin shop an' try to run thingssudden an' hard, an' that with half a dozen better men in th' same room?There's shore a-plenty of trouble a-comin' to every man without rustlin'around for more. 

"'Member that time yu an' Frenchy tried to run th' little town of FrozenNose, up in Montana?" Asked Johnny, winking at the rest. 

"An' we did run it, for a while, " responded Buck. "But that only goes toshow that most young men are chumps--we were just about yore age then. "

Red laughed at the youngster's discomfiture: "That little squib of yournshore touched her off--I reckon we irrigates on yu this time, don't we?"

"Th' more th' Kid talks, th' more money he needs, " remarked Lanky, placing his glass on the bar. "He had to blow me an' Skinny twice lastnight. "

"I got two more after yu left, " added Skinny "He shore oughter practicekeeping still. "

At one o'clock sharp Hopalong walked up to the clerk of the hotel andgrinned. The clerk looked up:

 "Hullo, Cassidy?" He exclaimed, genially. "What was all that fussabout this mornin' when I was away? I haven't seen you for a long time, have I? How are you?"

"That fuss was a fool joke of Buck's, an' I wish they had been throwedout, " Hopalong replied. "What I want to know is if Miss Deane is in herroom. Yu see, I have a date with her. "

The clerk grinned:

"So she's roped you, too, has she?"

"What do yu mean?" Asked Hopalong in surprise. "Well, well, " laughed theclerk. "You punchers are easy. Any third-rate actress that looks good toeat can rope you fellows, all right. Now look here, Laura, you keep shyof her corral, or you'll be broke so quick you won't believe you everhad a cent: that's straight. This is the third year that she's been hereand I know what I'm talking about. How did you come to meet her?"

Hopalong explained the meeting and his friend laughed again:

"Why, she knows this country like a book. She can't get lost anywherearound here. But she's blame clever at catching punchers. "

"Well, I reckon I'd better take her, go broke or not, " replied Hopalong. "Is she in her room?"

"She is, but she is not alone, " responded the clerk. "There is adude puncher up there with her and she left word here that she wasindisposed, which means that you are outlawed. "

"Who is he?" Asked Hopalong, having his suspicions. "That friend ofyours: Ewalt. He sported a wad this morning when she passed him, and shelet him make her acquaintance. He's another easy mark. He'll be bustedwide open to-night. "

"I reckon I'll see Tex, " suggested Hopalong, starting for the stairs. 

"Come back, you chump!" cried the clerk. "I don't want any shootinghere. What do you care about it? Let her have him, for it's an easy wayout of it for you. Let him think he's cut you out, for he'll spend allthe more freely. Get your crowd and enlighten them--it'll be better thana circus. This may sound like a steer, but it's straight. "

Hopalong thought for a minute and then leaned on the cigar case:

"I reckon I'll take about a dozen of yore very best cigars, Charley. Gotany real high-toned brands?"

"Cortez panatella--two for a simoleon, " Chancy replied. "But, seein' thatit's you, I'll throw off a dollar on a dozen. They're a fool notion ofthe old man, for we can't sell one in a month. "

Hopalong dug up a handful and threw one on the counter, lightinganother: "Yu light a Cortez panatella with me, " he said, pocketing theremainder. "That's five simoleons she didn't get. So long. "

He journeyed to Tom Lee's and found his outfit making merry. Passingaround his cigars he leaned against the bar and delighted in the firstreally good smoke he had since he came home from Kansas City. 

Johnny Nelson blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling and paused with apleased expression on his face:

"This is a lalapoloosa of a cigar, " he cried. "Where'd yu get it, an'how many's left?"

"I got it from Charley, an' there's more than yu can buy at fifty ashot. "

"Well, I'll just take a few for luck, " Johnny responded, running outinto the street. Returning in five minutes with both hands full ofcigars he passed them around and grinned: "They're birds, all right!"

Hopalong smiled, turned to Buck and related his conversation withChancy. "What do yu think of that?" He asked as he finished. 

"I think Charley oughter be yore guardian, " replied the foreman. 

"He was, " replied Hopalong. 

"If we sees Tex we'll all grin hard, " laughed Red, making for the door. "Come on to th' contests--Lanky's gone already. "

Muddy Wells streamed to the carnival grounds and relieved itself ofits enthusiasm and money at the booths on the way. Cow-punchers rubbedelbows with Indians and Mexicans, and the few tourists that were presentwere delighted with the picturesque scene. The town was full of fakirsand before one of them stood a group of cow-punchers, apparentlydrinking in the words of a barker. 

"Right this way, gents, and see the woman who don't eat. Lived for twoyears without food, gents. Right this way, gents. Only a quarter of adollar. Get your tickets, gents, and see--"

Red pushed forward:

"What did yu say, pard?" He asked. "I'm a little off in my near ear. What's that about eatin' a woman for two years?"

"The greatest wonder of the age, gents. The wom--"

"Any discount for th' gang?" Asked Buck, gawking. 

"Why don't yu quit smokin' an' buy th' lady a meal?" Asked Johnny fromthe center of the group. 

"Th' cane yu ring th' cane yu get!" came from the other side of thestreet and Hopalong purchased rings for the outfit. Twenty-four ringsgot one cane, and it was divided between them as they wended their waytoward the grounds. 

"That makes six wheels she didn't get, " murmured Hopalong. As theypassed the snake charmer's booth they saw Tex and his companion aheadof them in the crowd, and they grinned broadly. "I like th' front row inth' balcony, " remarked Johnny, who had been to Kansas City. "Don't cryin th' second act--it ain't real, " laughed Red. "We'll hang John Brown ona sour appletree--in th' Panhandle, " sang Skinny as they passed them. 

Arriving at the grounds they hunted up the registration committee andentered in the contests. As Hopalong signed for the revolver competitionhe was rudely pushed aside and Tex wrote his name under that of hisenemy. Hopalong was about to show quick resentment for the insult, butthought of what Charley had said, and he grinned sympathetically. Theseats were filling rapidly, and the outfit went along the ground lookingfor friends. A bugle sounded and a hush swept over the crowd as theannouncement was made for the first event. 

"Broncho-busting-Red Devil, never ridden: Frenchy McAllister, Tin-Cup, Montana; Meteor, killed his man: Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, Texas; Vixen, never ridden: Lefty Allen, O-Bar-O, Texas. "

All eyes were focused on the plain where the horse was being led outfor the first trial. After the usual preliminaries had been gone throughFrenchy walked over to it, vaulted in the saddle and the bandage wastorn from the animal's eyes. For ten minutes the onlookers were heldspellbound by the fight before them, and then the horse kicked andgalloped away and Frenchy was picked up and carried from the field. 

"Too bad!" cried Buck, running from the outfit. 

"Did yu see it?" asked Johnny excitedly, "Th' cinch busted. " Anotherhorse was led out and Skinny Thompson vaulted to the saddle, and aftera fight of half an hour rode the animal from the enclosure to theclamorous shouts of his friends. Lefty Allen also rode his mount fromthe same gate, but took ten minutes more in which to do it. 

The announcer conferred with the timekeepers and then stepped forward:"First, Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, thirty minutes and ten seconds; second, Lefty Allen, O-Bar-O, forty minutes and seven seconds. "

Skinny returned to his friends shamefacedly and did not look as if hehad just won a championship. They made way for him, and Johnny, whocould not restrain his enthusiasm pounded him on the back and cried: "Yuold son-of-a-gun!"

The announcer again came forward and gave out the competitors for thenext contest, steer-roping and tying. Lanky Smith arose and, coiling hisrope carefully, disappeared into the crowd. The fun was not so great inthis, but when he returned to his outfit with the phenomenal time of sixminutes and eight seconds for his string of ten steers, with twenty-twoseconds for one of them, they gave him vociferous greeting. Three of hissteers had gotten up after he had leaped from his saddle to tie them, but his horse had taken care of that. His nearest rival was one minuteover him and Lanky retained the championship. 

Red Connors shot with such accuracy in the rifle contest as to run hispoints twenty per cent higher than Waffles, of the O-Bar-O, and won thenew rifle. 

The main interest centered in the revolver contest, for it was knownthat the present champion was to defend his title against an enemy andfears were expressed in the crowd that there would be an "accident. "Buck Peters and Red stood just behind the firing line with their handson hips, and Tex, seeing the precautions, smiled grimly as he advancedto the line. 

Six bottles, with their necks an inch above a board, stood twenty pacesfrom him, and he broke them all in as many shots, taking twelve secondsin which to do it. Hopalong followed him and tied the score. Three tinballs rolling erratically in a blanket supported by two men weresent flying into the air in four shots, Tex taking six seconds. Hiscompetitor sent them from the blanket in three shots and in the sametime. In slow shooting from sights Tex passed his rival in points andstood to win. There was but one more event to be contested and in itHopalong found his joy. 

Shooting from the hip when the draw is timed is not the sport of evengood shots, and when Tex made sixty points out of a possible hundred, hefelt that he had shot well. When Hopalong went to the line hisfriends knew that they would now see shooting such as would be almostunbelievable, that the best draw-and-shoot marksman in their State wasthe man who limped slightly as he advanced and who chewed reflectivelyon his fifty-cent cigar. He wore two guns and he stepped with confidencebefore the marshal of the town, who was also judge of the contest. 

The iron ball which lay on the ground was small enough for the use of arifle and could hardly be seen from the rear seats of the amphitheater. There was a word spoken by the timekeeper, and a gloved hand flasheddown and up, and the ball danced and spun and leaped and rolled as shotafter shot followed it with a precision and speed which brought theaudience to a heavy silence. Taking the gun which Buck tossed to himand throwing it into the empty holster, he awaited the signal, and thensmoke poured from his hips and the ball jumped continuously. Both gunsemptied in the two-hand shooting, he wheeled and jerked loose the gunswhich the marshal wore, spinning around without a pause, the targethardly ceasing in its rolling. Under his arms he shot, backward andbetween his legs; leaping from side to side, ducking and dodging, following the ball wherever it went. Reloading the weapons quickly, he stepped forward and followed the ball until once more his gunswere empty. Then he turned and walked back to the side of the marshal, smiling a little. His friends, and there were many in the crowd, tornfrom their affected nonchalance by shooting the like of which they hadnot attributed even to him, roared and shouted and danced in a frenzy ofdelight. 

Red also threw his guns to Hopalong, who caught them in the air andturning, faced Tex, who stood white of face and completely lost in theforgetfulness of admiration and amazement. The guns jerked again and abutton flew from the buckskin shirt of his enemy; another tore a flowerfrom his breast and another drove it into the ground at his feet asothers stirred his hair and cut the buckle off his pretty sombrero. Tex, dazed, but wise enough to stand quiet, felt his belt tear loose and dropto his feet, felt a spur rip from its strap and saw his cigarette leapfrom his lips. Throwing the guns to Red, Hopalong laughed and abruptlyturned and was lost in the crowd. 

For several seconds there was silence, but when the dazed minds realizedwhat their eyes had seen, there arose a roar which shook the houses inthe town. Roar after roar thundered forth and was sent crashing backagain by the distant walls, sweeping down on the discomfited dude andcausing him to slink into the crowd to find a place less conspicuous. Hewas white yet and keen fear gripped his heart as he realized that he hadcome to the carnival with the expressed purpose of killing his enemy infair combat. The whole town knew it, for he had taken pains to spreadthe news. 

The woman he had been with knew it from words which she had overheardwhile on her way to the grounds with him. His friends knew it and wouldlaugh him into forgetfulness as the fool who boasted. Now he understoodwhy he had lost so many friends: they had attempted what he had sworn toattempt. Look where he would he could see only a smoke-wrapped demon whomoved and shot with a speed incredible. There was reason why Slim haddied. There was reason why Porous and Silent had paled when they learnedof their mission. 

He hated his conspicuous clothes and his pretty broncho, and thewoman who had gotten him to squander his money, and who was doubtlessconvulsed with laughter at his expense. He worked himself into a passionwhich knew no fear and he ran for the streets of the town, there tomake good his boast or to die. When he found his enemy he felt himselfgrasped with a grip of steel and Buck Peters swung him around andgrinned maliciously in his face:

"You plaything!" hoarsely whispered the foreman. "Why don't yu get awaywhile yu can? Why do yu want to throw yoreself against certain death? Idon't want my pleasure marred by a murder, an' that is what it willbe if yu makes a gun-play at Hopalong. He'll shoot yu as he did yorebuttons. Take yore pretty clothes an' yore pretty cayuse an' go wherethis is not known, an' if ever again yu feels like killing Hopalong, getdrunk an' forget it. "