Lanky Smith, wondering why none of his friends had passed him on the line, followed the trail west to see if things were as they should be. He was almost in sight of a point opposite West Arroyo, his view being obstructed by chaparrals, when he heard a faint shot, and spurred forward, his rifle in the hollow of his arm ready for action. It could mean only one thing--one of his friends was shooting H2 cows, and complications might easily follow. When he had turned out of an arroyo which made part of the line for a short distance he saw a body huddled on the sand several hundred feet ahead of him. At that instant Meeker, with Chick and Dan close at his heels, came into view on the other side, saw the body and, drawing their own conclusions, opened a hot fire on the Bar-20 puncher, riding to encircle him. Surprised for an instant, and then filled with rage because they had killed one of his friends, as he thought, he returned their fire and raced at Chick, who was now some distance from his companions. Dan and Meeker wheeled instantly and rode to the aid of their friend, and Lanky's horse dropped from under him. Luckily for him he felt a warning tremor go through the animal and jerked his feet free from the stirrups as it sank down, quickly crawling behind it for protection. Immediately thereafter Chick lost his hat, then the use of his right arm, followed by being deprived of the services of a very good cow-pony, for Lanky now had a rest for his rifle and while his marksmanship was not equal to that of his friend Red, it was good enough for his present needs. Dan Morgan started to shout to his foreman and then swore luridly instead, for Lanky was pleased to drill him at five hundred yards, the bullet tearing a disconcerting hole in Dan's thigh. Meeker had been most zealously engaged all this time in making his rifle go off at regular intervals, his bullets kicking up the dust, humming viciously about Lanky's head, and thudding into the carcass of the dead horse. Then Lanky swore and shook the blood from his cheek, telling Meeker what he thought about the matter. Settling down again he determined to husk Meeker's body from its immortal soul, when he found his magazine empty. Reaching to his belt for the wherewithal for the husking he discovered the lamentable fact that he had only three cartridges left for the Winchester, and the Colt was more ornamental than useful at that range. To make matters worse both Chick and Dan were now sitting up wasting cartridges in his direction, while Meeker seemed to have an unending supply. Just then the H2 foreman found his mark again and rendered his enemy's arm useless. At that point the clouds of misfortune parted and Hopalong, Red and Johnny at his heels, whirled into sight from the west, firing with burning zeal.