y expected action, and the deadly quiet of his enemy oppressed
him. He stared in turn, but the insistent searching of his opponent's
eyes 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, still
searching 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 in
Alameda," responded Hopalong, his voice low and monotonous.

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

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

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 to
lay for him. When yu saw me an' him together yu saw di' chance to
wipe out another score. That's how I figger it out," replied Hopalong
quietly.

"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' funny
remarks. Anyhow, yu won't be much loss, an' th' stage company'll feel
better, 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 said
Hopalong, 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's
holster leaped out and flashed from its owner's hip and Thirsty fell
sideways, face down in the dust of the street.

Hopalong started toward the fallen man, but as he did so a shot rang out
from behind the store and he pitched forward, stumbled and rolled behind
the bowlder. As he stumbled his left hand streaked to his hip, and when
he fe