Hopalong shook his head in disgust. To be sidetracked like this was maddening. It had taken three hours of hard traveling over rough country to get where he was and it would take as long to return; and all for nothing! He regarded the pack animal with a grin, shrugged his shoulders and led the way toward the hut, the pack horse following obediently. It was another hour before he finally reached the little cabin, for the way was strange and rough. During this time he had talked aloud, for he had the tricks of his kind and when alone he talked to himself. When he reached the hut he relieved the pack horse of its load, carrying the stuff inside. Closing the door and blocking it with a rock he found the spring, drank his fill and then let the horses do likewise. Then he mounted and started back over the rough trail, thinking out loud and confiding to his horse and he entered a narrow defile close to the top of the divide, promising dire things to the foreman. Suddenly a rope settled over him, pinned his arms to his sides and yanked him from the saddle before he had time to think. He landed on his head and was dazed as he sat up and looked around. The foreman’s rifle confronted him, and behind the foreman’s feet were his two Colts. "You talks too much," sneered the man with the drop. "I suspicioned you th’ minute I laid eyes on you. It ’ll take a better man than you to get that five hundred reward. I reckon th’ Sheriff was too scared to come hisself." Hopalong shook his head as if to clear it. What was the man talking about? Who was the sheriff? He gave it up, but would not betray his ignorance. Yes; he had talked too much. He felt of his head and was mildly surprised to see his hand covered with blood when he glanced at it. "Five hundred ’s a lot of money," he muttered. "Blood money!" snapped the foreman. "You had a gall tryin’ to get me. Why, I been lookin’ for somebody to try it for two years. An’ I was ready every minute of all that time." Slowly it came to Hopalong and with it the realization of how foolish it would be to deny the part ascribed to himself. The rope was loose and his arms were practically free; the foreman had dropped the lariat and was depending upon his gun. The captive felt of his head again and, putting his hands behind him for assistance in getting up, arose slowly to his feet. In one of the hands was a small rock that it had rested upon during the effort of rising. At the movement the foreman watched him closely and ordered him not to take a step if he wanted to live a little longer. "I reckon I ’ll have to shoot you," he announced. "I dass n’t let you loose to foller me all over th’ country. Anyhow, I ’d have to do it sooner or later. I wish you was Phelps, d—n him; but he’s a wise sheriff. Better stand up agin’ that wall. I gotta do it; an’ you deserve it, you Judas!"