"Adios," replied the sheriff as he kicked a nearby door for assistance.
The cow-pony tied itself up in knots as it pounded down the street toward the trail, and although he was fired on he swung into the dusty trail with a song on his lips. Several hours later he stood dripping wet on the American side of the Rio Grande and shouted advice to a score of Mexican cavalrymen on the opposite bank. Then he slowly picked his way toward El Paso for a game at Faro Dan's.
The sheriff sat in his easy chair one night some three weeks later, gravely engaged in rolling a cigarette. His arms werepractically well, the wounds being in the fleshy parts. He was a philosopher and was disposed to take things easy, which accounted for his being in his official position for fifteen years. A gentleman at the core, he was well educated and had visited a goodly portion of the world. A book of Horace lay open on his knees and on the table at his side lay a shining new revolver, Hopalong having carried off his former weapon. He read aloud several lines and in reaching for a light for his cigarette noticed the new six-shooter. His mind leaped from Horace to Hopalong, and he smiled grimly at the latter's promise to call.
Glancing up, his eyes fell on a poster which conveyed the information in Spanish and in English that there was offered
REWARD
For Hopalong Cassidy, of the Ranch
and which gave a good description of that gentleman.
Sighing for the five hundred, he again took up his book and was lost in its pages when he heard a knock, rather low and
