charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for screws.

Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being open
at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the floor.
He stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in pain from
holding back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. Then a
guileless smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the opening
with a wad of wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and screws, Johnny
following his laudable example. After haggling a moment over the bill
they paid it and walked out, to the apparent joy of the clerk.

"Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all," warned Hopalong, as he noted
signs of distress on his companion's face. "Now, then; what was it we
said about thirst? Come on; I see one already."

Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the
bartender and shoved his glass back again. "One more, kind stranger;
it's good stuff."

"Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun," remarked Johnny, combining two
thoughts in one expression, which is brevity.

The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and
listened, a puzzled expression on his face.

_Tic--tickety-tick--tic-tic_, came strange sounds from the other side of
the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and Johnny
gazed vacantly out of the window.

"What's that? What in the deuce is that?" quickly demanded the man with