"Will you? Bully for you! Tell Buck th’ Dutchman ’s goin’ to get all th’ money—then Dave ’s goin’ to get it—it’s in th’ bank—on’y Schatz don’t know who it is—nobody catches Dave runnin’ into a blin’ trail thataway—then Dave takes th’ money to th’ Dutchman—but right here ’s where he fools him—he don’t take it—he keeps it—an’ he marries Rose on th’ train to Helena—Rose rides Swaller to Jackson to get th’ train—on’y she has got to get another horse ’cause I rode Swaller here. D ’you get me?" Pickles stared expectantly at Hopalong, who turned to Jake. "Put that horse in th’ barn. Saddle Allday. Rope a cayuse an’ set that smoke a-rollin’—take a blanket an’ ball th’ smoke three times at th’ end o’ every minute—go through th’ Gut an’ up th’ north side. _Pronto!_" Jake went out of the door on the jump. He moved fast for Buck on occasion—rare, it is true—but there was a volcanic danger in Hopalong’s eye that put springs in Jake’s boot-heels. "That’s th’ way to talk," sighed Pickles, happily. Hopalong went to the rack and took down his rifle. "Reckon yo ’re goin’ to want that?" asked Pickles. "Reckon I might," admitted Hopalong, gravely. "You see, after I find Buck I ’m a-goin’ to look for Dave an’ th’ Dutchman." "Jiggers! I shore hopes you find ’em. I ’d sooner you get Dave than any man I know, ’ceptin’ me." "Well, I sorter count on gettin’ Dave. So long, Pickles." "So long," echoed the boy. Mary followed her husband outside. "Don’t get hurt, Billy-Red," she warned him. "That sort o’ vermin never hurt me yet, Mary. When th’ boys get here send ’em after me to Wayback. Tell Ned, rifles. Let me have all th’ money you got; if I miss Buck I might want it." Mary watched him until he rode by on Allday, waving to him from the corner of the house. Then she went indoors to Pickles. "That’s a bully man, that Hopalong, ain’t he?" was his enthusiastic greeting. "He shore is; an’ you ’re a bully boy, Pickles," replied Mary. She took up her sewing again. The boy watched her curiously and was about to ask a question, when Sleep floated past and Pickles forgot to ask it. CHAPTER XXII "A MINISTERING ANGEL" Mrs. Blake surveyed her surroundings with the surface calm which comes from seeing and disbelieving. These were depths to which she never had expected to descend. She allowed herself half a moment of speculation on the possibility of there existing, somewhere in the world, a real lack of accommodations as appalling as her imagination could now conceive. "I have often thought Mr. Blake somewhat careless in his choice of a hotel during our wanderings, but the worst of them never even suggested—Margie, did you ever in your life imagine such a room could exist?" "It is only for an hour or so," returned Margaret, listlessly.