rasped from him. He awakened from time to time, but
only for a moment, for he was tired and sleepy.

His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it was
being given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it could
do nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace towards
Winchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears and broke
into a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in its rider.
Finally Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around for his
bearings. Not knowing where he was and too tired and miserable to give
much thought to a matter of such slight importance, he glanced around
for a place to finish his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of him
looked inviting and towards it he rode. Habit made him picket the horse
before he lay down and as he fell asleep he had vague recollections
of handling a strange picket rope some time recently. The horse slowly
turned and stared at the already snoring figure, glanced over the
landscape, back the to queerest man it had ever met, and then fell
to grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote topped a rise a short
distance away and stopped instantly, regarding the sleeping man with
grave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that there was nothing
good to eat in that vicinity and that the man was carrying out a fell
plot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out of sight and loped on
to other hunting grounds.

CHAPTER XII

A FRIEND IN NEED

Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and
departed towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral gate,
where he dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse in the
enclosure where the night before there had been four. He wasted no time
in surmises, but wheeled and dashed back towards the hotel, and his
vigorous shouts brought Old John to the door, sleepy and peevish. Old
John's mouth dropped open as he beheld his habitually indolent host
marking off long distances on the sand with each falling foot.

"What's got inter you?" demanded Old John.

"Our broncs are gone! Our broncs are gone!" yelled Stevenson, shoving
Old John roughly to one side as he dashed through the doorway and on
into the room he had assigned to the sullen and bibulous stranger. "I
knowed it! I knowed it!" he wailed, popping out again as if on springs.
"He's gone, an' he's took our broncs with him, the measly, low-down dog!
I knowed he wasn't no