ers, who would be only too glad
to have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells
scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand
in a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully
they would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in their
ability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner.
This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, and
so he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performed
as soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends
were fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become a
little more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble.

On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of
the habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card-players
already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There was some
laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More whispering
went on under that roof than in all the other places in town put
together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were
"trimmed" in "frame-ups" at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find
assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been taken
from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the trap door
which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion. It was
true, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of refuge under
the floor; it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully disposed of.

It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing
was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two
punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care.

"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then
walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny
stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting
lightly on his belt not far from the holster.

Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Looking fer
something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar.
Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him
as he watched for the first hostile move.

"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in
one swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered,
backing after his companion, an