Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering
the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. "Hey
Dave; wait a minute!" and he dashed out of the store and made good time
towards the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed the covers
on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the
cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while. It looked
like a plain case of horse-stealing to him.

"Stranger," cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, "where did you
see that cayuse of mine?"

"The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's Corners,"
the stranger replied, grinning broadly. "It's a long walk. Have
something before you starts?"

"Damn the walk! Who was riding him?"

"Nobody at all."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't being rid when I saw him."

"Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!"

"Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?" smiled the
stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke.

"You bet yore life it is!" shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale.