The pony was running less silently than when he left the ranch. Portions of unaccustomed equipment, loosened in his mad flurry, were dropping from him at every jump. This, and the straining of Hopalong’s hearing after the chase, allowed to pass unnoticed the coming up of a third horseman, riding at an angle to intercept the pursuit. The first intimation of his presence Hopalong received was the whine of a bullet, too close for comfort, and Hopalong was off and behind his pony to welcome the crack of the rifle when it reached him. "Shootin’ at random, d—n his fool hide!" snorted Hoppy; "an’ shootin’ good too," he conceded, as a second bullet sped eagerly after the first. Hoppy released a bellow of angry protest: "Hey! What ’n h—l do you reckon yo ’re doin’?" There was an interval of silence and then a voice from the darkness: "Show a laig, there: who is it?" "Show you a boot, you locoed bummer! It’s Cassidy." He mounted resignedly and waited for the other to ride up. "Could n’t ’a’ caught him, nohow," he reflected. "Never see such a horse in my life, never. Hope to th’ Lord it don’t rain. Be just like it." The unknown rode up full of apologies. Hopalong cut him short. "What d’ they call you?" he asked, curtly. "Slow Jack," was the answer. Hoppy grunted. "Well, you camp down right here," he ordered, "an’ don’t let nobody blot that sign. I ’m a-goin’ to be here at daylight an’ foller that screech-owl th’ limit. Good-night." He headed for the ranch house, satisfied that his section of range would remain undisturbed during the next few hours, at the least. * * * * * "Sweet birds-o’-paradise! Would you—would you oblige me by squintin’ at that!" Straight north, from the few dead carcasses where the trail started it led to the creek bank, east of the ranch house; and like hounds with nose to scent, Hopalong, Buck, and Ned had followed it from the point where Slow Jack had been found doing sentry-go and sent, in profane relief, to breakfast and sleep. Hoppy was in the lead and as he came to the creek he raised his eyes to look across at the other bank for signs of the quarry’s exit from the water. It was the sign on the north bank, coupled with that on the somewhat higher bank where they stood, that had made him exclaim. Ned Monroe’s face cleared of the frowning perplexity that had darkened it at first sight of the hoof prints they tracked. "Must be a stranger," he affirmed. "Dunno th’ country or he ’d never jump when he could ride through." "Jump!" exclaimed Buck, startled. "Why, of course," he conceded. "Hoppy, that’s shore one scrumptious jump"; and the dawning admiration grew to wonder as he mentally measured the distance.