nd thievery, had forever killed the
occupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, before
the demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had boosted
the prices and made them valuable.

Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead right!
_I_ was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of
us!" Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small
herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before,
and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been
lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were
banked in the east under Harlan's name.

The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and
nodded. "It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!"

"Here, _you_!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door,
"_Lively!_"

Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open and
Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and
immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny.
Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and
self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat
the fugitive on the draw.

"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly,
watching both Jerry and Harlan.

The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan
they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and
his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting
to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from
Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny
fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice
in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he
gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself
into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral.

When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way
to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan
and the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprang
on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive
at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and
anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at
heads with the butt of his Col