"Deuced good sentiment, by Jove. Here, you need—well, a number of things, don’t you know." Boomerang gazed after the departing Englishman and blinked rapidly at the bill in his hand. Did he or did he not see a zero following that two? With a fervent prayer for sanity he carefully tucked it out of sight. Whitby returned to Hopalong as much elated as previously he had been cast down. "We have the bally blackguard," was his glad assurance. "Where?" asked Hopalong; "in yore pocket, or yore hat, or only in yore mind." Whitby explained and Hopalong promptly appealed to the station agent. It was a weary wait. Whitby, a patient man himself, found occasion to admire the motionless relaxation of Hopalong, who appeared to be storing energy until such time as he would require it. To Whitby, who was well acquainted with the jungle of India, it was the inertia of the tiger, waiting for the dusk. The station door opened again but this time with a snappier purpose that seemed promising. Whitby turned his head. The railroader nodded as one well satisfied with himself. "Got your man," he announced, with a grin of congratulation. "He dropped off at X——. Don’t seem a whole lot scared. Took a room at th’ hotel. Goin’ to turn him over to the sheriff?" "No," answered Hopalong, "an’ I don’t want nothin’ to get out here, _sabe_? If it does, yo ’re th’ huckleberry. When ’s th’ next train East?" "It’s past due, but it ’ll be along in twenty minutes." "I ’ll take a ticket," and Hopalong rose to his feet and followed him into the station. He returned shortly, to apologize for leaving Whitby behind. "I know you ’d like to go, Whit, but you ought to find out about that money. Better stay here an’ see them bank people in th’ mornin’." Whitby acknowledged the wisdom of this and agreed to call on Buck at Jean’s on his way back to the ranch. "You tell Buck Dave is at X——," said Hoppy. "An’ that’s where he stays," he added, grimly. "Here she comes." Long before this, the usual crowd of idlers had gathered; and now the rest of Wayback began to ooze into the road and toward the station. As the train drew in it attracted even a half-shaved man from the barber’s, hastily wiping the soap from his face as he ran; after him came the barber, closing the razor and sticking it in his pocket. The first man off the cars was a fox-faced little hunchback, whose deformity in no way detracted from his agile strength; after him, with studied carelessness, came Tex. Hopalong grunted, turned his head as the clatter of hoofs sounded through the turmoil, and signalled Chesty Sutton, first man of the rapidly arriving Double Y punchers. "Don’t you stray none, screech-owl, or I ’ll drop you," he warned the captive, who shot one impish glance at the speaker and froze in his tracks. "Chesty, tell Ned to take this coyote to th’ ranch, an’ don’t let him get away, not if you has to shoot him."