ght
meet one of these.

He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts
to engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled
soliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all the
jumbled words his companions' diligent ears heard they recognized and
retained only the bare term "Winchester"; and their conjectures were
limited only by their imaginations.

Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had aroused
him. "Better go to bed, stranger," the proprietor was saying. "You
an' me are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired and
sleepy."

"Said his wife was sick," muttered the puncher. "Oh, what you saying?"

"You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger--it's after twelve an'
I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself."

"Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed--like to see anybody stop me! Ain't
no rocks in it, hey?"

"Nary a rock," laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong's
saddle and leading the way to a small room off the "office," his
guest stumbling after him and growling about the rocks that lived in
Winchester. When Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window and
departed, Hopalong sat on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for just
a moment before tackling the labor of removing his clothes. A crash and
a jar awakened him and he found himself on the floor with his back
to the bed. He was hot and his head ached, and his back was skinned
a little--and how hot and stuffy and choking the room had become!
He thought he had blown out the light, but it still burned, and
three-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered with soot. He was
stifling and could not endure it any longer. After three attempts he
put out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening the window,
leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he chuckled
wisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and himself through
the window and on the ground without serious mishap. He would ride
for an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, and come back
feeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he groped his way
unsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he vaguely remembered
having seen the corral as he rode up.

"Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill--no, Ben
Ferris," he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by a
horse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet g