added with anxiety.

"Who, me?" Asked I-Hopalong with a rising inflection.

"Most assuredly," breathed the sheriff.

"Why, this is the first time I ever heard anything about it,"
replied the astonished cow-puncher. "I'm an American-don't that make
any difference?"

"Not in this case, I'm afraid. You see, it's for manslaughter."

"Well, don't that beat th' devil, now?" Said Hopalong. He felt sorry
that a citizen of the glorious United States should be prey for
troublesome sheriffs, but he was sure that his duty to Texas called
upon him never to submit to arrest at the hands of a Mexican.
Remembering the Alamo, and still behind his Colt, he reached over and
took up the shining weapon from the table and snapped it open on his
knee. After placing the cartridges in his pocket he tossed the gun
over on the bed and, reaching inside his shirt, drew out another and
threw it after the first.

"That's yore gun; I forgot to leave it," he said, apologetically.
"Anyhow yu needs two," he added.

Then he glanced around the room, noticed the poster and walked over
and read it. A full swift sweep of his gloved hand tore it from its
fastenings and crammed it under his belt. The glimmer of anger in his
eyes gave way as he realized that his head was worth a definite price,
and he smiled at what the boys would say when he showed it to them.