somethin' hot. An' yu all better sit down," he suggested, sweeping
them with his guns. One man, more obdurate than the rest, was slow in
complying and Hopalong sent a bullet through the top of his high
sombrero, which had a most gratifying effect.

"You'll regret this!" hissed a man in the rear, and a murmur of
assent arose. Some one stirred slightly in searching for a weapon and
immediately a blazing Colt froze him into a statue.

"Yu shore looks funny; eeny, meeny, miny, mo," counted off the
daring horseman; "move a bit an' off yu go, he finished. Then his face
broke out in another grin as lie thought of more enjoyment.

That there gent on th' left," he said, pointing out with a gun the
man he meant. "Yu sing us a song. Sing a nice little song."

As the object of his remarks remained mute he let his thumb
ostentatiously slide back with the hammer of the gun under it. Sing!
Quick!" The man sang.

As Hopalong leaned forward to say something a stiletto flashed past
his neck and crashed into the bottle beside him. The echo of the crash
was merged into a report as Hopalong fired from his waist. Then he
backed out into the Street and, wheeling, galloped across the plaza
and again faced the saloon. A flash split the darkness and a bullet
hummed over his head and thudded into an adobe wall at his back.
Another shot and he replied, aiming at the flash.

From down the Street came the sound of a window opening
and he promptly caused it to close again. Several more windows