“You don't surprise me--I've heard of you,” replied the sheriff wearily. “You are the man who killed Tamale Jose, whom I hunted for unceasingly. I found him when you had left and I got the reward. Come again some time and I'll divide with you; two hundred and fifty dollars,” he added craftily. “I shore will, but I don't want no money,” replied Hopalong as he turned away. “Adios, senor,” he called back. “Adios,” replied the sheriff as he kicked a nearby door for assistance. The cow-pony tied itself up in knots as it pounded down the street toward the trail, and although he was fired on he swung into the dusty trail with a song on his lips. Several hours later he stood dripping wet on the American side of the Rio Grande and shouted advice to a score of Mexican cavalrymen on the opposite bank. Then he slowly picked his way toward El Paso for a game at Faro Dan's. The sheriff sat in his easy chair one night some three weeks later, gravely engaged in rolling a cigarette. His arms were practically well, the wounds being in the fleshy parts. He was a philosopher and was disposed to take things easy, which accounted for his being in his official position for fifteen years. A gentleman at the core, he was well educated and had visited a goodly portion of the world. A book of Horace lay open on his knees and on the table at his side lay a shining new revolver, Hopalong having carried off his former weapon. He read aloud several lines and in reaching for a light for his cigarette noticed the new six-shooter. His mind leaped from Horace to Hopalong, and he smiled grimly at the latter's promise to call. Glancing up, his eyes fell on a poster which conveyed the information in Spanish and in English that there was offered +--------------------------------------+ | | FIVE HUNDRED PESOS | | REWARD For Hopalong Cassidy, of the Ranch | | Known as the Bar-20, Texas, U. S. A. | | +--------------------------------------+ and which gave a good description of that gentleman. Sighing for the five hundred, he again took up his book and was lost in its pages when he heard a knock, rather low and timid. Wearily laying aside his reading, he strode to the door, expecting to hear a lengthy complaint from one of his townsmen. As he threw the door wide open the light streamed out and lighted up a revolver and behind it the beaming face of a cowboy, who grinned. “Well, I'll be damned!” ejaculated the sheriff, starting back in amazement. “Don't say that, sheriff; you've got lots of time to reform,” replied a humorous voice. “How's th' wings?” “Almost well: you were considerate,” responded the sheriff. “Let's go in--somebody might see me out here an' get into trouble,” suggested the visitor, placing his foot on the sill.