elation. He was sure that he knew the man now.

The Mexican, cool and smiling, bowed and left the room, his companions
hastening after him.

"Well, I'll bet twenty-five dollars he flunks!" breathed the bartender,
straightening up.

Martin turned languidly and smiled at him. "I'll take that, Charley," he
replied.



Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than
usual. He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at
Dent's at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o'clock at
night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east
for the canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough
in broad daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy,
unless one knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not. He
was thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up what
he could in the next three.

When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent's he had given his word to be back on
time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on time
and he would chafe if he were delayed. But, alas for Johnny's good
intentions, his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in which
lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny
tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets,
practising the nice things he would say if he met her. She watched