_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung
slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward;
six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past
him, and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense.
Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their
sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed.
"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the
mastery as the others cantered up.
"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward
the procession.
Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow that
glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!"
Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red."
"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided.
Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession.
"I had to look twice to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy,
like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported.
"Deader'n hell," remarked Skinny, looking around curiously. "This here
is some shack, ain't it?" he finished.
"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear
Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and
looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew.
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