he entered shortly after dark, and where an insult, simmering in its
uncalled-for venom, met him as he limped across the floor of the local
dispensary on his way to the bar. There was no time for verbal
argument and precedent had established the manner of his reply, and
his repartee was as quick as light and most effective. Having resented
the epithets he gave his attention to the occupants of the room.

Smoke drifted over the table in an agitated cloud and dribbled
lazily upward from the muzzle of his six-shooter, while he looked
searchingly at those around him. Strained and eager faces peered at
his opponent, who was sliding slowly forward in his chair, and for the
length of a minute no sound but the guarded breathing of the onlookers
could be heard. This was broken by a nervous cough from the rear of
the room, and the faces assumed their ordinary nonchalant expressions,
their rugged lines heavily shadowed in the light of the flickering oil
lamps, while the shuffling of cards and the clink of silver became
audible. Hopalong Cassidy had objected to insulting remarks about his
affliction.

Hopalong was very sensitive about his crippled leg and was always
prompt to resent any scorn or curiosity directed at it, especially
when emanating from strangers. A young man of twenty-three years, when
surrounded by nearly perfect specimens of physical manhood, is apt to
be painfully self-conscious of any such defect, and it reacted on his
nature at times, even though he was well-known for his happy-go-lucky
disposition and playfulness. He consoled himself with the knowledge
that what he lost in symmetry was more than balanced by the celerity
and certainty of his gun hand, which was right or left, or both, as
the occasion demanded.