cloud and dribbled lazily
upward from the muzzle of his six-shooter, while he looked searchingly
at those around him. Strained and eager faces peered at his opponent,
who was sliding slowly forward in his chair, and for the length of a
minute no sound but the guarded breathing of the onlookers could be
heard. This was broken by a nervous cough from the rear of the room, and
the faces assumed their ordinary nonchalant expressions, their rugged
lines heavily shadowed in the light of the flickering oil lamps, while
the shuffling of cards and the clink of silver became audible. Hopalong
Cassidy had objected to insulting remarks about his affliction.

Hopalong was very sensitive about his crippled leg and was always
prompt to resent any scorn or curiosity directed at it, especially
when emanating from strangers. A young man of twenty-three years, when
surrounded by nearly perfect specimens of physical manhood, is apt to
be painfully self-conscious of any such defect, and it reacted on his
nature at times, even though he was well-known for his happy-go-lucky
disposition and playfulness. He consoled himself with the knowledge
that what he lost in symmetry was more than balanced by the celerity
and certainty of his gun hand, which was right or left, or both, as the
occasion demanded.

Several hours later, as his luck was vacillating, he felt a heavy hand
on his shoulder, and was overjoyed at seeing Buck and Red, the latter
grinning as only Red could grin, and he withdrew from the game to enjoy
his good fortune.

While Hopalong had been wandering over the country the two friends had
been hunting for him and had traced him successfully, that being due
to the trail he had blazed with his six-shooters. This they had
accomplished without harm to themselves, as those of whom they inquired
thought that they must want Hopalong "bad," and cheerfully gave the
information required.

They had started out more for the purpose of accompanying him for
pleasure, but that had changed to an urgent necessity in the following
manner:

While on the way from Denver to Santa Fe they had met Pete Willis of the
Three Triangle, a ranch that adjoined their own, and they paused to pass
the compliments of the season.

"Purty far from th' grub wagon, Pie," remarked Buck.

"Oh, I'm only goin' to Denver," responded Pie.

"Purty hot," suggested Red.

"She shore is. Seen anybody yu knows?" Pie asked.

"One or two--Billy of th' Star Crescent an' Pan