demanded. "How do I know who yore broncho-buster is? I don't know what every land pirate does in this country."
"Then you shot Doc—do you know who I mean this time?" sarcastically asked the H2 foreman.
"Oh, shore. He didn't get his gun out quick enough when he went after it, did he? Any more I can tell you before I begins to say things, too?"
Meeker, angered greatly by Hopalong's contemptuous inflection and the reckless assertiveness of his every word and look, began to ride to describe a circle around the Bar-20 puncher, Curley going the other way.
"You said you'd kill me when you saw me, didn't you, you—"
Hopalong was backing away so as to keep both men in front of him, alert, eager, and waiting for the signal to begin his two-handed shooting. "I ain't a whole lot deaf—I can hear you from where you are. You better stop, for I've ridden out of tighter holes than this, an' you'll shore get a pass to h—l if you crowd me too much!"
Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill—
This fragment of song floated out of a chaparral about twenty yards behind Hopalong, who grinned pleasantly when he heard it. Now he knew where Johnny was, and now he had the whip hand without touching his guns; while the youngster was not in sight he was all the more dangerous, since he presented no target. Johnny knew this and was greatly pleased thereby, and he was more than pleased by the way Hopalong had been talking.
The effect of the singing was instant and marked on Meeker and his companion, for they not only stopped suddenly and swore, but began to back away, glancing around in an endeavor to locate the joker in the deck. This they failed to do because Johnny was far too wise to advertise his exact whereabouts. Meeker looked at Curley and Curley looked at Meeker, both uneasy and angry.
"As I was sayin' before th' concert began," Hopalong remarked, laughing shortly, "it's a pass to h—l if you crowd me too much. Now, Meeker, you'll listen to me an' I'll tell you what I didn't have time to say before: I told that shifty-eyed mud-image of a Greaser that th' next herd of yourn to cross th' line should be brought in by you, 'less you was scared to run th' risks yore men had to take. He said you'd kill me for that message, an' I told him you knew where you could find me. Now about Doc: When a man pulls a gun on me he wants to be quicker than he was or he'll shore get hurt. I could 'a killed him just as easy as to plug his gun arm, an' just as easy as I could 'a plugged both of you if you pulled on me. You came up here looking for my scalp an' if you still wants it I'll go away from th' song bird in the chaparral an' give you th' chance. I'd ruther let things stay as they are, though if you wants, I'll take both you an' Curley, half-mile run together, with Colts."
"No, I didn't come up here after your scalp, but I got mad after I found you. How long is this going to last? I won't stand for it much longer, nohow."
"You'll have to see Buck. I'm obeyin' orders, which are to hold th' line against you, which I'll do."
"H'm!" replied Meeker, and then: "Do you know my girl?"
Hopalong thought quickly. "Why, I've seen her ridin' around some. But why?"
"She says she knows you," persisted Meeker, frowning.
The frown gave Hopalong his cue, but he hardly knew what to say, not knowing what she had said about it.
"Hey, you!" he suddenly cried to Curley. "Keep yore hand from that gun!"
"I didn't—"
"You're lying! Any more of that an' I'll gimlet you!"
"What in h—l are you doing, Curley?" demanded Meeker, the girl question out of his mind instantly. He had been looking closely at Hopalong and didn't know that Curley was innocent of any attempt to use his Colt.
"I tell—"
"Get out of here! I've wasted too much time already. Go home, where that gun won't worry you. You, too, Meeker! Bring an imitation bad-man up here an' sayin' you didn't want my scalp! Flit!"
"I'll go when I'm d——d good and ready!" retorted Meeker, angry again. "You're too blasted bossy, you are!" he added, riding towards the man who had shot Doc.
A-looking for some place to land——
floated out of the chaparral and he stiffened in the saddle and stopped.
"Come on, Curley! We can't lick pot-shooters. An' let that gun alone!"
"D—n it! I tell you I wasn't going for my gun!" Curley yelled.
"Get out of here!" blazed Hopalong, riding forward.
They rode away slowly, consulting in low voices. Then the foreman turned and looked back. "You better be careful how you shoot my punchers! They ain't all like Doc, an' they ain't all Greasers, neither."
"Then you're lucky," Hopalong retorted. "You keep yore cows on yore side an' we won't hurt none of yore outfit."
When they had gone Hopalong wheeled to look for Johnny and saw him crawling out of a chaparral, dragging a rifle after him. He capered about, waving the rifle and laughing with joy and Hopalong had to laugh with him. When they were rid of the surplus of the merriment Johnny patted the rifle. "Reckon they was shore up against a marked deck that time! Did you see 'em stiffen when I warbled? Acted like they had roped a puma an' didn't know what to do with it. Gee, it was funny!"
"You're all right, Kid," laughed Hopalong. "It was yore best play—you couldn't 'a done better."
"Shore," replied Johnny. "I had my sights glued to Curley's shirt pocket, an' he'd been plumb disgusted if he'd tried to do what you said he did. I couldn't 'a missed him with a club at that range. I nearly died when you pushed Meeker's girl question up that blind canyon. It was a peach of a throw, all right. Bet he ain't remembered yet that he didn't get no answer to it. We're going to have some blamed fine times down here before everything is settled, ain't we?"
"I reckon so, Kid. I'm going to leave you now an' look around by West Arroyo. You hang around th' line."
"All right—so long."
"Can you catch yore cayuse?"
"Shore I can; he's hobbled," came the reply from behind a spur of the chaparral. "Stand still, you hen! All right, Hoppy."
Johnny cantered away and, feeling happy, began, singing:
Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill;
A-looking for some place to land
Comes Whiskey Bill.
An' everybody'd like to be
Ten miles away behind a tree
When on his joyous, achin' spree
Starts Whiskey Bill.
Th' times have changed since you made love,
Oh, Whiskey Bill, oh, Whiskey Bill;
Th' happy sun grinned up above
At Whiskey
