uming the air with its aromatic odor.

As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around
the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body
and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew.

From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and
grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and
carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as
ghosts.

"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low
voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the
guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in
peace."

Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small,
well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long a
time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to
hear more or less turmoil and confusion.

_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 twict to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy,
like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported.

"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. "Hey, _you!_ Yes, _you!_ Come
out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here
all night."

Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they
rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and
looked back; and then rode on, buried