ckass; but I don't
care. I'll rope that cayuse for you. You come along to save time,"
Hopalong ordered, spurring forward. His borrowed rope sailed out,
tightened, and in a moment he was working at the saddle. "Here, you; I'm
going to swamp mounts with you--this one is fresher an' faster." He had
his own saddle off and the other on in record time, and stepped back.
"There; don't stand there like a fool--wake up an' hustle! I might
change my mind--that's the way to move! Gimme that neck-kerchief for
a souveneer, an' get out. Send that cayuse back to Dave Wilkes, at
Grant--it's hissn. Don't thank me; just gimme that scarf an' ride like
the devil."

The other, already mounted, tore the kerchief from his throat and handed
it quickly to his benefactor. "If you ever want a man to take you out of
hell, send to Winchester for Ben Ferris--that's me. So long!"

Mr. Cassidy sat on his saddle where he had dropped it after making the
exchange and looked after the galloping horseman, and when a distant
rise had shut him from sight, turned his eyes on the scarf in his hand
and cogitated. Finally, with a long-drawn sigh he arose, and, placing
the scarf on the ground, caught and saddled his horse. Riding gloomily
back to where the riot of color fluttered on the grass he drew his Colt
and sent six bullets through it with a great amount of satisfaction. Not
content with the damage he had inflicted, he leaned over and swooped
it up. Riding further he also swooped up a stone and tied the kerchief
around it, and then stood up in his stirrups and drew back his arm with
critical judgment. He sat quietly for a time after the gaudy missile had
disappeared into the stream and then, wheeling, cantered away. But he
did not return to the town of Grant--he lacked the nerve to face Dave
Wilkes and tell his childish and improbable story. He would ride on and
meet Red as they had agreed; a letter would do for Mr. Wilkes, and after
he had broken the shock in that manner he could pay him a personal visit
sometime soon. Dave would never believe the story and when it was told
Hopalong wanted to have the value of the horse in his trousers pocket.
Of course, Ben Ferris _might_ have told the truth and he might return
the horse according to directions. Hopalong emerged from his reverie
long enough to appeal to his mount:

"Bronc, I've been thinking: am I or am I not a jackass?"

CHAPTER VIII

RED BRINGS TROUBLE

After a night spent on the plain and a