"You tell me who was leading him, understand?"

"Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't," replied the
stranger. "Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful
an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes
on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was--Hey! Wait a
minute!" he shouted at Hopalong's back.

"Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle--quick!" cried Hopalong from
the middle of the street as he ran towards the store. "Hypocrite
son-of-a-hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a
thief could wear such a kerchief!"

"I'm with you!" shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the
corral in the rear of his store.

"No, you ain't with me, neither!" replied Hopalong, deftly saddling.
"This ain't no plain hoss-thief case--it's a private grudge. See you
later, mebby," and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts
of the town.

Dave looked after him. "Well, that feller has shore got a big start on
you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She can
out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked sort
of done up, while mine's as fresh as a bird. That thief will get what's
coming to him, all right."



CHAPTER VII