An' th' gents trail out,
An' all stampede down th' middle.
If yu ain't got th' tin
Yu can dance an' shout,
But yu must keep up with th' fiddle."


As the dance waxed faster and the dancers grew hotter Hopalong,
feeling lonesome because he wouldn't face ridicule, even if it was not
expressed, went over and stood by the sheriff. He and Harris were good
friends, for he had received the wound that crippled him in saving the
sheriff from assassination. Harris killed the man who had fired that
shot, and from this episode on the burning desert grew a friendship
that was as strong as their own natures.

Harris was very well liked by the majority and feared by the rest,
for he was a square man and the best sheriff the county had ever
known. Quiet and unassuming, small of stature and with a kind word for
every one, he was a universal favorite among the better class of
citizens. Quick as a flash and unerring in his shooting, he was a
nightmare to the "bad men." No profane word had ever been known to
leave his lips, and he was the possessor of a widespread reputation
for generosity. His face was naturally frank and open; but when his
eyes narrowed with determination it became blank and cold. When he saw
his young friend sidle over to him he smiled and nodded a hearty welcome.



"They's shore cuttin' her loose," remarked Hopalong.