Hopalong was very sensitive about his crippled leg and was always prompt to resent any scorn or curiosity directed at it, especially when emanating from strangers. A young man of twenty-three years, when surrounded by nearly perfect specimens of physical manhood, is apt to be painfully self-conscious of any such defect, and it reacted on his nature at times, even though he was well-known for his happy-go-lucky disposition and playfulness. He consoled himself with the knowledge that what he lost in symmetry was more than balanced by the celerity and certainty of his gun hand, which was right or left, or both, as the occasion demanded. Several hours later, as his luck was vacillating, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and was overjoyed at seeing Buck and Red, the latter grinning as only Red could grin, and he withdrew from the game to enjoy his good fortune. While Hopalong had been wandering over the country the two friends had been hunting for him and had traced him successfully, that being due to the trail he had blazed with his six-shooters. This they had accomplished without harm to themselves, as those of whom they inquired thought that they must want Hopalong “bad,” and cheerfully gave the information required. They had started out more for the purpose of accompanying him for pleasure, but that had changed to an urgent necessity in the following manner: While on the way from Denver to Santa Fe they had met Pete Willis of the Three Triangle, a ranch that adjoined their own, and they paused to pass the compliments of the season. “Purty far from th' grub wagon, Pie,” remarked Buck. “Oh, I'm only goin' to Denver,” responded Pie. “Purty hot,” suggested Red. “She shore is. Seen anybody yu knows?” Pie asked. “One or two--Billy of th' Star Crescent an' Panhandle Lukins,” answered Buck. “That so? Panhandle's goin' to punch for us next year. I'll hunt him up. I heard down south of Albuquerque that Thirsty Jones an' his brothers are lookin' for trouble,” offered Pie. “Yah! They ain't lookin' for no trouble--they just goes around blowin' off. Trouble? Why, they don't know what she is,” remarked Red contemptuously. “Well, they's been dodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' if that ain't trouble I don't know what is,” said Pie. “It shore is, an' hard to dodge,” acquiesced Buck. “Well, I has to amble. Is Panhandle in Denver? Yes? I calculates as how me an' him'll buck th' tiger for a whirl--he's shore lucky. Well, so long,” said Pie as he moved on. “So long,” responded the two. “Hey, wait a minute,” yelled Pie after he had ridden a hundred yards. “If yu sees Hopalong yu might tell him that th' Joneses are goin' to hunt him up when they gits to Albuquerque. They's shore sore on him. 'Tain't none of my funeral, only they ain't always a-carin' how they goes after a feller. So long,” and soon he was a cloud of dust on the horizon.