"They ’re his friends, and they understand that father wants it so. You ’ll not know father, Dick: I never thought a man could change so. Mother’s death broke him as though he were a reed." "Hum!" he grunted. "You ain’t carin’ how this coyote is stopped, just so he is?" "No!" she flashed. "An’ he ’ll be waitin’ for you?" "He usually is." He grinned. "Le ’s hope he is this time." He was silent a moment and looked at her curiously. "I don’t know how you ’ll take it, but I got a surprise for you—a big one. I ’m shore sorry to admit it, but I ain’t th’ man you think. I ain’t Dick What ’s-his-name, though it shore ain’t _my_ fault. I reckon I must look a heap like him; an’ I hope I can _act_ like him in this here matter. I want to see it through like _he_ would. I can do as good a job, too. But it ain’t no-wise fair nor right to pretend I ’m him. I ain’t." She was staring at him in a way he did not like. "Not Dick Ellsworth!" she gasped. "You are _not_ Dick?" "I ’m shore sorry—but I ’d like to play his cards. I ’m honin’ for to see this here Joe Worth," he nodded, cheerfully. "And you let me believe you were?" she demanded coldly. "You deliberately led me to talk as I did?" "Well, now; I didn’t just know what to do. You shore was in trouble, which was bad. I reckoned mebby I could get you out of it an’ then go along ’bout my business. You ain’t goin’ to stop me a-doin’ it, are you?" he asked anxiously. Her reply was a slow, contemptuous look that missed nothing and that left nothing to be said. Her horse did not like to stand, anyway, and sprang eagerly forward in answer to the sudden pressure of her knees. She rode the high-strung bay with superb art, angry, defiant, and erect as a statue. Hopalong, shaking his head slowly, gazed after her and when she had become a speck on the plain he growled a question to his horse and turned sullenly toward the town. Riding straight to the hotel he held a short, low-voiced conversation with the clerk and then sought his friend, the Cub. This youthful grouch was glaring across the bar at the red-faced, angry man behind it, and the atmosphere was not one of peace. The Cub turned to see who the newcomer was and thereupon transferred his glare to the smiling puncher. "Hullo, Kid," breezed Hopalong. "You go to h—l!" growled Sammy, remembering to speak respectfully to his elders. He backed off cautiously until he could keep both of his enemies under his eyes. Hopalong’s grin broadened. He dug into his pockets and produced a large sum of money. "Here, Kid," said he, stepping forward and thrusting it into Sammy’s paralyzed hands. "Take it an’ buy all th’ liquor you wants. You can get yore gun off ’n th’ clerk, an’ he ’ll tell you where to find yore cayuse an’ other belongings. I gotta leave town." Sammy stared at the money in his hand. "What’s this?" he demanded, his face flushing angrily.