"There! See the cross?"
"Shore enough!"
"An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same.
Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this
time."
"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't."
"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get
him, not nohow," declared Hopalong.
"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously.
"Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard," Hopalong responded,
his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent,
and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was
concerned.
"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively.
"Well, you ain't no _kid_."
"You let _me_ do the talking; _I'll_ get him."
"All right; an' I'll do the laughing," snickered Hopalong, at the door.
"Sic 'em, Red!"
The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his
heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his
left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the
room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the
dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of
burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe
in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling
of guilt stealing over him.
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