Mr. Cassidy's mouth opened and then clicked shut as his Colt swung down.
But he did not shoot; something inside of him held his trigger finger
and he swore instead. The idea of a man stealing his horse, being caught
red-handed and unarmed, and still possessed of sufficient courage to
call his captor a name never tolerated or overlooked in that country!
And the idea that he, Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20, could not shoot
such a thief! "Damn that sky pilot! He's shore gone an' made me loco,"
he muttered, savagely, and then addressed his prisoner. "Oh, you ain't
crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' sort of made 'em leak a
little--that it? Or mebby them unholy green roses an' yaller grass on
that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are too much for _your_ eyes,
too!"

"Look ahere!" snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one fist
upraised. "I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel sharp's
tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you get any
smart about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool eyes if
you don't like my clothes!"

"Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a
real genuine hoss-thief!" enthused Mr. Cassidy. "You act like a twin
brother; but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?"

"An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just the
same," replied the thief. "I had to have it; that's why. I'll fight
you rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an'
shoot me besides: is it a go?"

Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and