Hopalong looked steadily ahead with unseeing eyes, his face hard, his eyes narrowed, and a tightness about his lips that told plainly what he felt. To come home to that! He realized that his companion was speaking again and gave close attention.

"I don't know where I put in th' next week, but when I got rational I found myself in a cell in a Philadelphia jail, along with bums and crooks. I found that I 'd beat up a couple of policemen when I was drunk. When I got ready to leave th' town I didn't have a whole lot of money, so I played cards with what I had an' left th' town as soon as I had my fare—which did n't take long. That bunch never went up agin' such a well trained deck in their lives."

This time Hopalong broke the silence that ensued, his hand dropping unconsciously on his friend's arm in warm, impulsive sympathy. "By G—d, what a deal! It's awful, Tex; awful!"

"Yes, it was—an' it ain't exactly what you 'd call a joke right now. But I ain't worryin' none about th' woman—she killed my love stone cold that night. But when I think of how things might 'a' turned out if she 'd been square, of th' home I 'd 'a' had—but h—l, what's th' use, anyhow? Now what hurts me most is my pride an' conceit—an' th' way I turned to th' drink an' cheatin' so easy. It makes me mad clean through to think of what a infant I was, how I played th' fool for th' Lord knows how long; an' sometimes I want to kill somebody to sort of get square with myself. Up north I 'll be too busy tryin' to make fools out of other people to do much in th' line of sympathizin' with myself—an' too busy an' cautious to break back to drink an' cards. That was one of th' things drove me back here—there 's a whole lot more temptation facin' a man back East, an' 'specially a feller that's totin' a big load of trouble."

"Don't it beat all how different luck will run for different people?" marvelled Hopalong, thinking of his portion.

"That was runnin' in my mind while I was eatin'," replied Tex. "Reckon I did get sort of quiet. But I 'm plumb glad th' right kind of luck came yore way, all right."

They rode on for a short time, each busy with his own thoughts, and then Hopalong looked up. "We 're goin' up to see Buck just as soon as I feel th' ranch is in proper shape. I 've got to get th' round-up out of th' way first. You see, we ain't had no honeymoon trip yet."

"Yo 're lucky again; I never could see no joy in hikin' over th' country changin' trains, livin' in hotels, sleepin' in a different bed every night, each one worse'n th' one before, lookin' after baggage, an' workin' hard all th' time. I 've often wondered why it is that two people jump into all that trouble just as soon as they get into their own little heaven for th' first time." Then Tex's face grew earnest. "Now, look here, Hoppy: You ain't goin' up to see Buck till I tell you to come. I know you, all right; just as soon as you land you 'll be out gunnin' for th' bunch that's tryin' to bust Buck's game. You ain't single no more—yo're a married man, an' when a man 's got a wife like yourn he naturally ain't got no cussed business runnin' 'round puttin' hisself in th' way of gettin' killed. You let yore gun get plumb dusty an' when you want any excitement, go out an' try to make water run up hill, or somethin' simple like that. You handle th' trouble that comes to you, an' don't go off a-lookin' for it."

They spent the rest of the time in discussing the status of the married man, and when Mary afterward learned of the stand Tex took she shared more of her husband's affection for him. After a short stay at the H2 they turned homeward and went thoroughly into the matter of Tex's ride north. It was agreed that extra precaution would do no harm, and in order to have no blunder on the part of any one, they decided that it was best not to say anything about where he was going. Hopalong was greatly pleased and relieved now that he knew that his old foreman would have some one to help him fight his battles on that cold, distant range; but he did not appear to be as cheerful about it as was his companion. Tex looked forward to the trip with all the eagerness and impatience of a boy and it showed in his conversation and actions.

When they reached the ranch house at dusk they found Mary cooking a very small meal, and she waved them off. "You an' Billy-Red can't eat here to-night: yo 're goin' to eat with th' boys in th' bunk-house. I would n't spoil your fun for anything. Now you get right out—I mean just what I say!"

"But, girl—" began Hopalong.

"Now I 've made up my mind, an' that's all there is about it. I can get along without you this once—I won't do it again, you know—an' I want you boys to have a rousin' good time all by yoreselves. I want th' boys to like me, Billy-Red, to feel that I ain't changed everythin' by bein' here. Now you clear out—Lee knows all about it, an' I cooked some goodies this afternoon for th' feast. Johnny cleaned out th' cake tins an' scraped th' bowls I mixed th' fillin' in—I had to drive him away. Look! There he is, leanin' up against that tree watchin' for me to set somethin' out to cool. He purty near got away with a pie—oh, he 's terrible! But he 's a good boy, just th' same."

Tex turned, emitted a blood-curdling yell and started for the anxious Johnny, Hopalong close behind, while Mary stood in the door and watched the fun, laughing with delight. The outfit piled out of the bunk-house, caught sight of Johnny pounding towards them, and joined in, much to the Kid's disgust. They did not know anything about the affair, but they did not have to know—Johnny was legitimate prey for all, at any time and under any conditions. The fleeing youngster was nearly caught twice as he dodged and doubled, but once past them, he drew away with ease. When the winded and laughing pursuers finally stopped, he circled around to the nearest corral, found a seat on the gate and watched them straggle back to the bunk-house, deriding them with cheerful abandon, dissecting them with a shrewd and cutting tongue. He took them up in rotation and laid bare their faults and weaknesses until they leaned against the wall and laughed at each other until the tears came. Then he turned to ridicule.

"An' there's Skinny," he continued, slowly and gravely, while he rolled a cigarette. "Th' only way you can see him, except at noon, is to look at him in front, or at his feet. Why, I grabbed a broom in th' dark one time an' shore apologized before I realized that it was n't him at all. When he sits down he looks like a figger four, an' I 'm allus a-scared he 'll get into one pant's laig by mistake. When he eats solid stuff he looks like a rope with a knot in it—it's scary watchin' them knots go down—looks like he was skinnin' hisself. You can't tell whether he 's comin' or goin'—th' bumps is all alike. His laigs is so long he looks like a wishbone an' I 'm holdin' my breath most of th' time for fear he 'll split. When he goes huntin' all he has to do is to stand still so th' game won't see him; it wanders up to see what's holdin' up th' hat. He put Pete's pants on once when he fell in th' crick—after he fell in—an' I lifts my hat when I saw th' ridin' skirts. His laigs are beautiful—except for them knobs half way down where they hinge. An' when he swallers a mouthful of water he looks like a muscle dance. Why, I got into his bunk one night by mistake an' spent five minutes a-tryin' to smooth out a crease in th' blanket. Then he wakes up an' tells me to go over an' scratch Red for a change.