Rounding the corner he heard a soft footfall, and swerving in his saddle he turned and struck with all his might in the face of a man who leaped at him, at the same time grasping the uplifted wrist with his other hand. A curse and the tinkle of thin steel on the pavement accompanied the fall of his opponent. Bending down from his saddle he picked up the weapon and the next minute the enraged assassin was staring into the unwavering and, to him, growing muzzle of a Colt's .45. “Yu shore had a bum teacher. Don't yu know better'n to push it in? An' me a cowpuncher, too! I'm most grieved at yore conduct--it shows you don't appreciate cow-wrastlers. This is safer,” he remarked, throwing the stiletto through the air and into a door, where it rang out angrily and quivered. “I don't know as I wants to ventilate yu; we mostly poisons coyotes up my way,” he added. Then a thought struck him. “Yu must be that dear Manuel I've been hearin' so much about?” A snarl was the only reply and Hopalong grinned. “Yu shore ain't got no call to go loco that way, none whatever. I don't want yore Carmencita. I only called to say hulloo,” responded Hopalong, his sympathies being aroused for the wounded man before him from his vivid recollection of the woman who had opened the door. “Yah!” snarled Manuel. “You wants to poison my little bird. You with your fair hair and your cursed swagger!” The six-shooter tentatively expanded and stopped six inches from the Mexican's nose. “Yu wants to ride easy, hombre. I ain't no angel, but I don't poison no woman; an' don't yu amble off with th' idea in yore head that she wants to be poisoned. Why, she near stuck a knife in me!” he lied. The Mexican's face brightened somewhat, but it would take more than that to wipe out the insult of the blow. The horse became restless, and when Hopalong had effectively quieted it he spoke again. “Did yu ever hear of Tamale Jose?” “Yes.” “Well, I'm th' fellow that stopped him in th' 'dobe hut by th' arroyo. I'm tellin' yu this so yu won't do nothin' rash an' leave Carmencita a widow. Sabe?” The hate on the Mexican's face redoubled and he took a short step forward, but stopped when the muzzle of the Colt kissed his nose. He was the brother of Tamale Jose. As he backed away from the cool touch of the weapon he thought out swiftly his revenge. Some of his brother's old companions were at that moment drinking mescal in a saloon down the street, and they would be glad to see this Americano die. He glanced past his house at the saloon and Hopalong misconstrued his thoughts. “Shore, go home. I'll just circulate around some for exercise. No hard feelings, only yu better throw it next time,” he said as he backed away and rode off. Manuel went down the street and then ran into the saloon, where he caused an uproar.