“That there gent on th' left,” he said, pointing out with a gun the man he meant. “Yu sing us a song. Sing a nice little song.” As the object of his remarks remained mute he let his thumb ostentatiously slide back with the hammer of the gun under it. “Sing! Quick!” The man sang. As Hopalong leaned forward to say something a stiletto flashed past his neck and crashed into the bottle beside him. The echo of the crash was merged into a report as Hopalong fired from his waist. Then he backed out into the Street and, wheeling, galloped across the plaza and again faced the saloon. A flash split the darkness and a bullet hummed over his head and thudded into an adobe wall at his back. Another shot and he replied, aiming at the flash. From down the Street came the sound of a window opening and he promptly caused it to close again. Several more windows opened and hastily closed, and he rode slowly toward the far end of the plaza. As he faced the saloon once more he heard a command to throw up his hands and saw the glint of a gun, held by a man who wore the insignia of sheriff. Hopalong complied, but as his hands went up two spurts of fire shot forth and the sheriff dropped his weapon, reeled and sat down. Hopalong rode over to him and swinging down, picked up the gun and looked the officer over. “Shoo, yu'll be all right soon--yore only plugged in th' arms,” he remarked as he glanced up the street. Shadowy forms were gliding from cover to cover and he immediately caused consternation among them by his accuracy. “Ain't it sad?” He complained to the wounded man. “I never starts out but what somebody makes me shoot 'em. Came down here to see a girl an' find she's married. Then when I moves on peaceable--like her husband makes me hit him. Then I wants a drink an' he goes an' fans a knife at me, an' me just teachin' him how! Then yu has to come along an' make more trouble”. “Now look at them fools over there,” he said, pointing at a dark shadow some fifty paces off. “They're pattin' their backs because I don't see 'em, an' if I hurts them they'll git mad. Guess I'll make 'em dust along,” he added, shooting into the spot. A howl went up and two men ran away at top speed. The sheriff nodded his sympathy and spoke. “I reckons you had better give up. You can't get away. Every house, every corner and shadow holds a man. You are a brave man, but, as you say, unfortunate. Better help me up and come with me--they'll tear you to pieces.” “Shore I'll help yu up--I ain't got no grudge against nobody. But my friends know where I am an' they'll come down here an' raise a ruction if I don't show up. So, if it's all th' same to you, I'll be ambling right along,” he said as he helped the sheriff to his feet. “Have you any objections to telling me your name?” Asked the sheriff as he looked himself over. “None whatever,” answered Hopalong heartily. “I'm Hopalong Cassidy of th' Bar 20, Texas.”