“But you are my prisoner--you are under arrest,” enlightened the sheriff, rolling another cigarette. The sheriff spoke as if asking a question. Never before had five hundred dollars been so close at hand and yet so unobtainable. It was like having a check-book but no bank account. “I'm shore sorry to treat yu mean,” remarked Hopalong, “but I was paid a month in advance an' I'll have to go back an' earn it.” “You can--if you say that you will return,” replied the sheriff tentatively. The sheriff meant what he said and for the moment had forgotten that he was powerless and was not the one to make terms. Hopalong was amazed and for a time his ideas of Mexicans staggered under the blow. Then he smiled sympathetically as he realized that he faced a white man. “Never like to promise nothin',” he replied. “I might get plugged, or something might happen that wouldn't let me.” Then his face lighted up as a thought came to him. “Say, I'll cut di' cards with yu to see if I comes back or not.” The sheriff leaned back and gazed at the cool youngster before him. A smile of satisfaction, partly at the self-reliance of his guest and partly at the novelty of his situation, spread over his face. He reached for a pack of Mexican cards and laughed. “Man! You're a cool one--I'll do it. What do you call?” “Red,” answered Hopalong. The sheriff slowly raised his hand and revealed the ace of hearts. Hopalong leaned back and laughed, at the same time taking from his pocket the six extracted cartridges. Arising and going over to the bed he slipped them in the chambers of the new gun and then placed the loaded weapon at the sheriff's elbow. “Well, I reckon I'll amble, sheriff,” he said as he opened the door. “If yu ever sifts up my way drop in an' see me--th' boys'll give yu a good time.” “Thanks; I will be glad to,” replied the sheriff. “You'll take your pitcher to the well once too often some day, my friend. This courtesy,” glancing at the restored revolver, “might have cost you dearly.” “Shoo! I did that once an' th' feller tried to use it,” replied the cowboy as he backed through the door. “Some people are awfully careless,” he added. “So long--” “So long,” replied the sheriff, wondering what sort of a man he had been entertaining. The door closed softly and soon after a joyous whoop floated in from the Street. The sheriff toyed with the new gun and listened to the low caress of a distant guitar. “Well, don't that beat all?” He ejaculated. CHAPTER IX. The Advent of McAllister The blazing sun shone pitilessly on an arid plain which was spotted with dust-gray clumps of mesquite and thorny chaparral. Basking in the burning sand and alkali lay several Gila monsters, which raised their heads and hissed with wide-open jaws as several faint, whip-like reports echoed flatly over the desolate plain, showing that even they had learned that danger was associated with such sounds.