"What's
this?" demanded the newcomer, angrily.
Charley's gun glinted as it swung up and the stranger swore again. "What
you doing?" he shouted. "Take that gun off'n me or I'll blow you apart!"
"Mind yore business an' sit still!" Charley snapped. "You ain't in no
position to blow anything apart. We've got a hoss-thief an' we're shore
going to hang him regardless."
"An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can
one," suggested Stevenson, placidly. "You sit tight an' mind yore own
affairs, stranger," he warned.
Hopalong turned his head slowly. "He's a liar, stranger; just a plain,
squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell
outen 'em an' let--_why, hullo, hoss-thief_!" he shouted, at once
recognizing the other. It was the man he had met in the gospel tent, the
man he had chased for a horse-thief and then swapped mounts with. "Stole
any more cayuses?" he asked, grinning, believing that everything was all
right now. "Did you take that cayuse back to Grant?" he finished.
"Han's up!" roared Stevenson, also covering the stranger. "So yo're
another one of 'em, hey? We're in luck to-day. Watch him, boys, till I
get his gun. If he moves, drop him quick."
"You damned fool!" cried Ferris, white with rage. "He ain't no thief,
an' neither am I! My name's Ben Ferris an' I live in Winchester.
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