"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."