CHAPTER XXVI

HUNTERS AND HUNTED

A string of empty cars backed onto the siding at X----, bumping and grinding and squealing as the engine puffed softly; a running rattle and crash told of the shivering line coming to rest and the sibilant sighs of the engine seemed to voice its protest at being side-tracked for the passing of an engine of a higher caste. While it panted and wheezed, its crew taking advantage of the opportunity to look to and oil journals and rods, a man made his way through the brush several hundred yards down the track, swearing mildly as he brushed cinders and dust from his clothes. His only possessions besides his clothes were a revolver swinging in its buttoned holster, and a tightly rolled and securely tied gunny sack, to which he clung in grim determination.

"H--l of a ride," he growled as he headed in a circuitous course for the town a short distance away. "But it breaks th' trail. They 'll figger I went north to cross th' line, or up to Helena. Lucky they told me Denver Gus's relay was relieved. Brains, says Smiler--huh, devil a lot of good his brains done him. He is out of it, an' so is Peters, d--n 'em. Brains!"

He entered the town, looking for a place to put up. The Come-Again looked good and he entered it, securing a room on the second floor, which was under the roof. He was explicit to the proprietor: "It's got to be a back room, an' I want it for a couple of days, an' I don't want no noise,--I'm out here for my cussed nerves an' as soon as I can get a good job we 'll see about terms. Oh, I expect to pay in advance--will two days' pay keep you from layin' awake nights?"

"Reckon somebody made a mistake," replied the proprietor. "Yore nerves is purty strong."

"Have a drink and forget it," Dave smiled. When he had paid for the drinks he asked a question: "Who's got th' best horse in town? I'm a-goin' to buy it if it's good enough."

The proprietor looked him over and nodded toward a table in the farther corner: "That's him."

Dave sauntered over to the lone drinker: "Just been told you got th' best horse in town. That right?"

The other looked up slowly: "I might," he replied.

"I want to buy him. I don't give a d--n about th' price if he's good. Interested? Thought you'd be."

The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes--I 'm interested--a little. I ain't h--l-bent for to sell that horse. He 's th' best ever came to these parts--that's why he 's good--he _came_ here."

Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?"

"Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an' you can see him if yore eyes is good."

The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along and his mental comment was not flattering to the _protege_ of the late Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don't know a _hoss_ from a hoss--but he thinks he does."

When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the corner: "That's him, stranger. He 's part cow-horse an' part Kaintuk, an' too good to be out here in this part of the country. _That's_ th' hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours--one hundred an' forty miles, says th' map, an' Hawkins weighed a hundred an' seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th' limb of th' best tree they could find. Why, _he 's_ th' cuss what held up th' Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge--reckon you _are_ a stranger to these parts."

"He don't look like no miracle to _me_," asserted Dave, closely scrutinizing the horse.

"No? Mebby you ain't up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did n't you say so? Dolly 's slick as silk an' fat as butter--you can have her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you won't save nothin' on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin', one that gets there quick, an' gets back quick."

"I ain't said nothin' 'bout savin' no money," retorted Dave. "An' it seems to me yo 're purty d--n high in yore prices, anyhow."

"Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an' when a man wants a hoss bad he wants a _good_ hoss--an' good hosses come high. Dolly 's gentle as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he 's some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th' next."

"How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave.

"One hundred dollars."

"I ain't buyin' a herd," remonstrated Dave.

"I ain't sellin' a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses come high. Mebby Dolly 'd suit you better. She 's my daughter's hoss."

"Here 's th' hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter or piece of rope? An' I want to buy a saddle--one that's been broke in."

"There's a halter on him--good enough? All right; I got a saddle that's in purty fair shape--don't need it, so you can have it for twenty."

When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food. Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray drifted back to his table shortly after Dave's return and settled himself for another drink.

"Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change.

"Yep," was the reply.

"Fifty, sixty, seventy-five--there 's yore change. I wonder who he is an' where he's goin'?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something better.

"Dunno; but he ain't no cow-punch, an' likewise he ain't no tenderfoot. Looks like a tin-horn to me. His fingers was purty slick gettin' th' bills off his roll. They was so slick I counted 'em to be sure he was n't robbin' hisself. But there was n't no folded bill there. Here, have a drink with me--business is pickin' up."

* * * * *

When the east-bound accommodation pulled into X---- at dusk two men jumped off and started toward the nearest hotel. The proprietor of the Come-Again assigned them a room and spoke of supper, to which they intimated their ability to do justice to "anythin' you got." As they turned away carelessly toward the "washroom" one of them halted: "We're expectin' a friend," and he gave a concise description of the third man.

"Why, he 's upstairs now--first door to th' left at th' top of th' flight--got in this afternoon. But he said he did n't want to be bothered none," hastily warned the proprietor.

"That's right--you can let that go for th' three of us," replied Hopalong, smiling.

"Said his nerves was all stampeded," commented the host, dubiously.

Hopalong winked, grinning: "Did n't act none that-a-way, did he?"

"Oh, I _told_ him somebody was stringin' him," laughed the proprietor.

"Reckon we 'll go up an' hustle him down to his feed," Tex remarked, leading the way, with Hopalong stepping on his heels.

The proprietor studied the three names on his register, and spoke to the horseman, who now was playing solitaire in a negligent way. "Wonder what's up, Dick?"

"Dunno," replied Dick, holding aloft a queen of hearts and studying the layout. "Reckon you better let this deal go by. Keep yore chips out, Joe; don't like th' looks of th' pair of 'em. That red-head looks like a bad customer, if his corn 's stepped on. Mebby their nervous friend has did somethin' they don't like."

The knocking upstairs now reverberated through the house and a peevish voice threatened destruction to the door unless it opened speedily.

"That's th' red-head," remarked Dick. "What did I tell you?"

The proprietor hastened from behind the bar and went up the steep, narrow stairs with undignified haste. "Don't bust that door!" he cried. "Don't you bust it!"

"Aw, close yore face!" growled a voice, and Dick nodded his head wisely. "Both of 'em bad customers," he mumbled.

There was a crash and the sound of splintering wood, followed by disgusted exclamations. Dick arose and sauntered up to see the show: the host was nervously clutching a bill large enough to pay for several broken doors. The red-head was looking out of the open window while the other man rapidly searched the room.

"He dropped his belongings first," audibly commented the man at the window. "Then _he_ dropped." He turned quickly to the proprietor: "Did he have a horse?"

"Yes; bought one first thing after he registered."

"We want one apiece," crisply demanded Hopalong, "with speed, bottom, an' sand. Got 'em? No? Then where can we get 'em to-night?"

"What'd he do?" blundered the host, rubbing the bill with tender fingers and looking for information instead of giving it.

"He dropped out th' winder," sharply replied Tex. "We never stand for that."

"Never, not under no circumstances," endorsed his friend. "It allus riles us. How 'bout them horses?"

"I reckon I can fix you up," offered Dick. "I sold him th' hoss he 's got. He wanted th' best in town, which he didn't get for bein' too blamed flip. But he paid for it, just th' same. I got a roan an' a bay that 'll run Big Gray off 'n his feed an' his feet. If yo 're comin' back this way I 'll buy 'em back again at a reduction--I 'd like to keep them two. I don't reckon I 'll get no chance to buy back th' other."

The horseman fell in behind the descending procession and lined up with it against the bar on Hopalong's treat. Then they left the proprietor to swear at the cook while they departed for the corral.

Dick chuckled. "Th' gray I sold yore missin' friend carried Bad Hawkins from Juniper Creek to Halfway in fourteen hours--ten miles an hour. Th' roan an' th' bay did it in ten hours even--which puts a period after th' last words of Hawkins. Bad Hawkins weighed less 'n you," he said to Tex, "an' th' gray shore sprains a laig a-doin' it. It don't show--that is, not when he was sold it did n't. That feller was too d--d flip--one of them Smart Alecks that stirs my bile somethin' awful."

Tex wearied of his voice: "Yore discernment is very creditable," he replied, with becoming gravity.

The horseman glanced at him out of the corner of his eye: "Yes--I reckon so," he hazarded.

When they reached the corral the two strangers looked in critically. Nearly a score of horses were impounded, among them several bays and roans. Hopalong pointed to one of the roans. "That looks like th' horse," he remarked, quietly, at the instant his friend singled out the bay.

"Them 's th' hosses--they 'll run th' liver out of Big Gray even if his laig does hold out," smiled their owner, glad that his first customer had not been as wise as either of these two men. The horses were cut out and accepted on the spot.

"How much?" demanded Hopalong, brusquely.

"Eighty apiece."

"That's a lot of money. But we got to have 'em. How 'bout saddles? We can do without 'em if we has to, but we ain't hankerin' very strong to do it."

"I got a couple of good ones," responded the horseman. Then he yielded to a sudden burst of generosity. "Tell you what I 'll do--I 'll sell you them saddles for forty apiece an' when I gets 'em back, you gets yore money back. An' if you don't kill th' hosses, we 'll have a little dicker over them, too. I would n't sell 'em only for a good price an' you won't have nothin' to complain about if I buys 'em back again."

"Yo 're a white man," responded Hopalong. "Now we all oughta have a drink to bind th' deal. An' I reckon supper 'll go good, too. We 'll be right glad to have you join us." The invitation was accepted with becoming alacrity.

After the meal, and a game of cards, during which both punchers had learned much about the surrounding country, they went on a tour of investigation. They had discovered that the only way south likely to be taken by a man not perfectly familiar with the several little-known mountain trails, was through Lone Tree Pass. A walk about the town, before turning in, disclosed to them the kind and amount of Dave's purchases: these showed that he expected to be in the saddle more than a few hours. Returning to the hotel they went at once to their room. Sitting on the edge of the bed Hopalong asked a question: "You 've got me on t' lay of th' land in this part of the country, Tex. Why do you figger he 'll head south?"

Tex blew out the light and settled himself snugly in his bed before replying. "Because anybody else would figger he 'd strike north for th' Canadian line, or up to Helena an' West, where a man can get lost easy. I 've sort of palled with Dave, an' I know th' skunk like a ABC book. His trail will show us th' way, but it won't tell us about th' country ahead of us. I allus like to know what I 'm goin' up against when I can."

"Shore; good-night," muttered Hopalong, and in a moment more soft snores vibrated out through the open window, to be mildly criticised by the cook in the cook shack below.

Down in the bar-room the proprietor, having said good-night to his last customer, pushed the column of figures away with a sigh of satisfaction and rested his chin on his hand while he reviewed the events of the day. "Why," he muttered, pugnaciously, coming out of his reveries and pouring himself a liberal drink on the strength of the day's profits; "why, now I know what that coyote wanted his room at the back of the house for--good thing I got th' money ahead of time! Well, he 's got a h--l of a lot of trouble chasin' him, anyhow, th' beat."

* * * * *

With three days' rations fastened to their saddles Hopalong and Tex whirled away from the Come-Again as the first streak of gray appeared in the eastern sky and after a short distance at full speed to take the devilishness out of their mounts, they slowed to a lope. Heading straight for the Pass, they picked up Dave's trail less than two miles from town and then settled into a steady gait that ate up the miles without punishing their horses. They had not made any mistake in their mounts for they were powerful and tough, spirited enough to possess temper and courage without any undue nervous waste, and the way they covered ground, with apparently no effort, brought a grim smile to Hopalong's face.

"I don't reckon I 'll do no swappin' back, Tex," he chuckled. "I 've allus wanted a cayuse like this 'n, an' I reckon he 'll stay bought, even at th' price."

"They look good--but I 'll tell you more about 'em by night," Tex replied. He glanced ahead with calm assurance: "I don't figger he's so very far, Hoppy?"

"Why no, Tex; he could n't ride hard last night, not over strange country--it was darker'n blazes. We did n't leave very long after him when you figger it in miles, an' he ain't reckonin' _shore_ on bein' chased. He drops out th' winder an' sneaks that way 'cause he ain't takin' no chances.

"We 've got th' best cayuses, we 've had more sleep than him, we know this game better, we 're tougher, an' we can get more out of a cayuse than he can. I reckon we ought to get sight of him afore sundown, an' I would n't be surprised if we saw him shortly after noon. We 'll shore get him 'bout noon, if he 's had any sleep."

"I 'd ruther get him this side of Lone Tree Pass--I ain't hankerin' for no close chase through th' mountains after a cuss like Dave," Tex replied. "What do you say 'bout lettin' out another link?"

Hopalong watched his horse for a minute, glanced critically at his companion's, and tightened the grip of his knees. "That feller said a hundred an' forty in ten hours--how far is that pass? Well, might as well find out what this cayuse can do--come on, let 'em go!"

Pounding along at a gait which sent the wind whistling past their ears they dipped into hollows, shot over rises, and rounded turns side by side, stirrups touching and eyes roving as they searched the trail ahead. The turns they made were not as many as those in the trail they followed, for often they cut straight across from one turn to another. The ability to do this brought a shrewd smile to Hopalong's thin lips.

"Let his cayuse pick its way, Tex--told you he could n't go fast last night. Bet a dollar we come to where he slept afore long--an' say! luck 's with us, shore. Notice how he was bearin'--a little off th' course all th' time--that gray of his must a' come from som'ers up north. He had to correct that when he could see where th' Pass lay--come on, we 'll try another cut-off, an' a big one."

"Yo 're right--we 'll gain a hour, easy," Tex replied as they shot off at a tangent for the distant mountain range on a line for the Pass. The sun was two hours higher when Tex laughed aloud, stretching his hand across his friend's horse and pointing some distance ahead of him. "There's th' track again, Hoppy," he cried, "you was right--see it?"

Hopalong waited until they swept up along the fresh trail before he replied and the reply was characteristic of him. "Pushin' th' gray hard, Tex. Them toe prints are purty deep--an' d--d if th' gray ain't havin' trouble with his bad laig! See that off fore hoofmark? See how it ain't as deep as its mate? Th' gray's favorin' that laig, an' only for one reason: it hurts him more when he don't. Move away a little, Tex; don't do no good to be bunched so close where there 's so much cover. He ain't a long way off, judgin' from them tracks. We don't know that he ain't doubled back to pick us off as we near him."

Tex tightened his knee-grip and rowelled his spurs lightly along the side of his mount, darting ahead with Hopalong speeding up to catch him. It was a test to see how the horses were holding up and when the animals took up the new speed and held it with plenty of reserve strength, the two men let them go.

As they shot down a rough, sloping trail to a shallow creek, flowing noisily along the bottom of a wild arroyo, Hopalong looked ahead eagerly and called to Tex to slow down to a walk. Tex, surprised, obeyed and took the reins of the bay as Hopalong went ahead to cross the stream on foot. But Tex's surprise was only momentary; he quickly understood the reason for the play and he warmed to his sagacious friend while he admired his skill.

Hopalong waded the stream and looked carefully around on both side of the tracks where they left the water. Motioning Tex to come ahead, he grinned as the other obeyed. "Did n't want to splash no fresh water around here till I saw if th' water Dave splashed was all soaked up. It is; but th' spots is moist. An' another thing: see th' prints o' that hoof where he takes up an' sets down--where is he lame?"

"Shoulder," replied Tex with instant decision.

"Shore is. An' he 's been a-gettin' lamer every step. Bet he ain't an hour ahead, Tex."

"Won't take you--an' he 'll be above us all th' way till we cross th' top of th' range, so we better keep under cover as much as we can," Tex replied. "We 've trailed worse men than Dave, a whole lot worse, an' far better shots; but he ain't really due to miss twice in two days. Th' Pass ain't so far ahead now--there it is, with th' blasted pine stickin' up like a flag-pole. Half an hour more an' we 'll be in it."

Ahead of them, toiling up the Pass on a tired and limping horse rode Dave, not so fresh as he might have been with the four hours' sleep he had secured in the open at dawn. The night ride over strange, rough country had been hard and his rage at the shabby trick played upon him by the horse dealer had not helped him any. To win up to the point where success was almost his; and then to have a half-breed horse coper--one who had absolutely no connection with the game--threaten to defeat him! To fool all the players, to gain, as he thought, a big handicap and then to be delayed by a man who sought only to gain a little money and be well rid of a poor horse! Dave's temper was like that of a rattler hedged in by thorns and the rougher part of the mountain trail had been saturated with profanity. There was not much chance of meeting any one on that trail and by the time he reached a place where he could get another horse, the need for one would have gone. Let him see a horseman and he knew who would ride the horse. He struck the limping gray savagely as it flinched over a particularly rough part of the trail and he was growling and swearing as he rounded a turn in the Pass and came to a place where, by climbing a boulder just above him, he could get a good view of the way he had come. Dismounting, he made the climb and looked back over the trail. Miles of country were below him, the trail winding across it, hidden at times and then running on in plain view until some hill concealed it again. The sun was half down in the western sky and he swore again as he realized how much farther he should have been--how near the end of his ride.

"A hundred an' forty miles in ten hours!" he snarled, squirming back to descend to his horse. "No wonder Bad Hawkins got caught! Served th' d--n fool right; an' it 'd serve me right for being such a----" the words ceased and the speaker flattened himself to the rock as he peered intently at a hill far down the trail, waiting to be sure his eyes had not deceived him.

The slanting sun had made a fairyland of the rugged scenery, bathing the rocks until they seemed to glow, finding cunningly hidden quartz and crystals and turning them into points of flame. The fresh, clean green coat that Spring had thrown over the crags as if to hide them, softened the harsher tones and would have thrilled even Dave, who was sated with scenery, if it had not been for his temper and the desperate straits in which he found himself. He lay like one dead but for the straining eyes. An eagle, drifting carelessly across the blue, missed him in its sharp scrutiny, so well did his clothes blend with the tones of the rock.

"H--l!" he muttered, for far below him something moved out into the trail again where it emerged from behind the hill, and two mounted men came into sight, riding rapidly to take advantage of the short run of level country.

Dave could not make them out--they were only two men at that distance, but he wasted no time nor gave heed to any optimism. He wriggled backwards, dropped to the trail, and looked around for a place to hide his horse. Not seeing one at hand he mounted again and forced the limping animal forward until he saw a narrow ravine cut into the mountain side by the freshets of countless years. Leading the gray into this and around a turn in the wall, he picketed the animal and then hastened back, scurrying to and fro in search of a hiding place that would give him a view of the trail for the greatest distance. His mind worked as rapidly as his feet. The coming horsemen might be innocent of all knowledge of him or of his need. If so, he preferred to ride behind them. If they were in pursuit--and he could not believe it to be a mere coincidence that any but an enemy would be following him so close through Lone Tree Pass--they had not started from the town he had just quitted--unless they had traced him by telegraph! Dave cursed softly and settled himself a little more at ease in his ambush.

Hopalong and Tex, enjoying that friendship that sets no embarrassment on silence, rode forward side by side when the trail permitted it, grim, relentless, dogged. They represented that class of men who can pursue one thing to the exclusion of all tempting side leads, needing nothing but what they themselves can supply; who approach all duties with cool, level-headed precision and gain their goal without a thought of reward and with small regard for danger. Danger they had both met in all the forms it took on the range and trail, dance-hall and saloon; both had mastered it by the speed and certainty of their hands and guns, and neither found anything exciting or fearful in this game of follow and take; on the other hand it was tiresome to have to follow, and one man, at that. If some bold, daring stroke of strategy or a reckless dash could have been hoped for, it would have made the game interesting. So they jogged on toward the opening of the pass, taciturn and sombre, but with the cold patience of Indians.

The trail narrowed again and Tex took the lead. "Closer now," he remarked, more to himself than to his companion, whose reply was a grunt, presumed to be affirmative. When they entered the pass itself it was Hopalong who led, and to see him as he sat slouching in his saddle, apparently half asleep, one would have wondered that a man whose wariness was the basis of so many famed exploits could ride thus carelessly, allowing his horse to pick the way. But in the shadow of his straight-brimmed hat, two hard, keen eyes squinted through the narrow lids, among the wrinkles, and missed nothing that could be seen; under the faded red shirt sleeve was an arm ready for the lightning draw that had never yet been beaten, and the hand-worn butt of the heavy Colt rubbed softly against the belt-strap of its holster.

Hopalong rolled a cigarette and took advantage of the movement to speak: "Goin' back to Texas, Tex?"

"Why," replied Tex, pausing to reflect. "Why, I said as how I would to all yore boys, but I reckon mebby Buck needs me worse'n you do. What think?"

"Stay up here an' run for sheriff," was the crisp reply. "This country 's sick with crooks."

"Reckon so."

"Good place for undertakers, while th' boom is on," continued Hopalong, smiling grimly at the truth in his jest. He knew Tex Ewalt.

"Th' boom 'll be busted flat afore you go home," Tex responded. "It's fallin' now. Dave was its high-water mark."

They were riding side by side now and Hopalong growled a suggestion: "Go slow, Tex; mebby he 's holin' up on us, like he did on Buck. He ain't more 'n a million miles ahead of us now."

"Uh-huh; an' if he is he ought to get us easy in this place. Got to take a chance, anyhow. Gimme a match--_Look out_!"

As he spoke he hurled his horse against Hopalong's and his left arm dropped to his side with a bullet through it, while his right hand flashed to his hip, where a pungent cloud of smoke burst out to envelop his horse's head. Off his balance from the unexpected shock, Hopalong's shot went wide, but the next five, directed at Dave's head-long rush as he came crashing down through the underbrush, gave promise of better aim.

"I owed him that, anyhow," muttered Tex, his ears ringing from the fusillade so close to him. "An' I owed you th' play, Hoppy, ever since that day in th' brush--"

"You don't owe me nothin' now, Tex; that's as close as any in ten years," returned Hopalong. "Well, he showed hisself a d--d ambushin' snake just as we thought he would. He could a' got us both if his nerves had n't got th' chills an' fever. We was some careless!"

"We was a pair of blasted kids," Tex remarked. "Now what 'll we do with him? We can't take him back, an' buryin' in solid rock ain't been in my schoolin'."

"We can cover him with rocks, I reckon, but we ain't got time--besides, how'd he leave Buck?" demanded Hopalong sharply. "Why, he got you, Tex! Here, you close-mouthed fool, lemme fix that hole."

Tex stood quietly thoughtful until Hopalong had finished his task. "We 'll just chuck him off th' trail, Hoppy; then we won't have to answer no question or shoot sense into no thick skulls. How 'bout it?"

"Uh-huh, go ahead," grunted Hopalong and the two walked over, picked up the unresisting bulk and placed it in a fissure in the rock wall.

"By th' Lord!" swore Tex: "Five shots out of five when you got yore balance--_that's_ shootin'! _You_ better run for sheriff."

"I had n't ought to 'a' done it when I knowed th' second got him--but he kept a-comin' an' I was a-thinkin' of Buck. Come on, let's get goin'." He mounted and waited impatiently for Tex, who was still standing beside his horse as if unwilling to leave the scene. "His pot-shootin' is over, so let's start back."

"Uh-huh," muttered Tex, still lost in thought. Hopalong waited, having acquired increased respect for his friend's brain capacity in the last few days.

"Hoppy, why did Dave ambush Buck an' have to run, just when he was goin' to skin Schatz for a pot of money?"

"Give it up," answered Hopalong.

"Well, why did n't Schatz turn up when everything was set for the play?"

"Got to pass again, Tex," was Hopalong's indulgent reply.

"Dave had plenty of chances to kill Buck--better chances than that one--an' no need to run, if he was careful. Th' Twin River trail is travelled some--it was shore risky--no time to waste in Wayback waitin' for Schatz after that, huh?"

"Mebby th' kid did n't get it right," suggested Hopalong.

Tex nodded his head convincingly. "Yes, he did. Told a straight story. Hoppy, Dave knew Schatz was n't comin'. Hoppy, I got--I got a feelin'--Hoppy, what 'll you bet Dave ain't got th' money right now?"

"By G--d!" exclaimed Hopalong, staring at his friend, his mind racing along the scent like a hound to the kill. "By G--d!" he repeated, softly, as he dropped from the saddle and became hidden in the crevice. "No money, Tex; only a few--"

"Where's his horse?" demanded Tex, eagerly.

"_Yo 're_ goin' to run for sheriff," came the retort, and Hopalong followed the track of Dave's horse and turned into the ravine, out of sight of Tex, who waited impatiently.

Tex was surprised at the result of the quest when a crazy man came buck-jumping into sight, yelling like an Indian and frantically waving a tightly grasped saddle pad of sacking. He would have come out with more dignity if the money had been his, but belonging as it did to his old foreman, the big-hearted man who had been for so long a time on the verge of despair and defeat, allowed himself the luxury of free expression to the bubbling joy within him.

"Come on, Tex!" he cried. "Th' h--l with goin' back--we 'll take a chance of meetin' th' Dutchman as Dave Owens' personal executors an' ambassadors. If Schatz has got a wad like this, he 's th' man I want to see. Come on! We 'll bust all Montana records for hold-ups--come on, you wise old devil!"

"Now who 's goin' to be sheriff?" grinned Tex, and then allowed himself the relief of working off his joy in a short jig, which informed him that Dave had made a hit; not a bull's eye, but a hit just the same.

"Here, you drunk Apache," Hopalong cried, "let's count up an' see what we got."

Had any one drifted along a minute later he would have been torn between duty and discretion: duty to provide a sane guardian in himself for that part of the Government treasury strayed to the wilds of these western mountains, and discretion in facing the two capable-looking highwaymen who sat crossed-legged on the trail with guns on the ground close to their hands.

"Um-m-m," murmured Tex, who knew of the size of the joint account. "Schatz is lucky if he 's got carfare--th' capital of th' Peters-McAllister-Schatz combine is spread reckless under our gloatin' eyes; all except th' few miserable bills that Dave spent. Come on, you greedy hog--we 'll let Schatz have his two-bits an' be glad to get rid of him. I 'd hate to shoot any man as fat as him--no tellin' what 'd happen. Stick yore roll where it won't jar loose, load that right-hand gun, an' see that nobody holds you up."

"I 've allus been plumb a-scared o' hold-ups," grinned Hopalong, facetiously. "We all was. Lead costs money, an' there ain't no use wastin' it." The grin disappeared and a hard look focussed in his clear eyes as he thought of what a lovely time any hold-up squad would have when Buck's money was at stake.

They mounted and rode away down the pass. As they came to the first bend, Tex glanced back and saw Big Gray peacefully cropping the scanty vegetation along the trail by the ravine. He was without bridle or saddle and Tex glanced covertly at the happy man at his side who could put five bullets in a falling enemy without a pang, and immediately after release a limping horse so that it could live and grow strong, to roam free among the mountains.

Hopalong rolled both guns at once to end the celebration, the bullets striking a rock down the trail as fast as one could count and at intervals as regular as the hammer-stroke of a striking clock. To a man who looked upon a gun only as a weapon to be pointed and discharged at an object, this would have been sufficiently wonderful, but to a real gun-man, one acquainted with the delicacy of manipulation and absolute precision required to effect this result, it was far more wonderful. There are many good gun-men who never have acquired this art, and the danger of practising it is enough to deter most men from attempting it. To hold a six-shooter by a finger slipped through the trigger guard and make it spin around like a pinwheel, firing it every time the muzzle swung out and away from the body, is risky; and when two guns are going at once, it is trebly risky, while accuracy is almost impossible. Hopalong was accurate, so was Johnny, but the latter could work only one gun. Tex, being something of a master of gun-play, was capable of appreciating the feat at its true worth and his eyes glowed at the exhibition. To him came the memory of a day far back in the years when this dexterity had worked to his dishonor, yet it brought with it no malice and it was with the deep affection that a man has for a man friend--and usually for only one--that he playfully advised his companion to "load 'em up again." "Hoppy, there 's only one hand I ever see that I 'm more afraid of than that 'n o' yourn," he remarked.

Hopalong looked at him in mild surprise: "Whose is that?" he asked.

"Yore other one," and Tex grinned at his jest.