led his horse. He was unsuccessful and returned to
his peaches.

Soon the riders came up, and when they saw Hopalong shove a peach into
his powder-grimed mouth they yelled their delight.

"Yu old maverick! Eatin' peaches like yu was afraid we'd git some!"
shouted Red indignantly, leaping down and running up to his pal as
though to thrash him.

Hopalong grinned pleasantly and fired a peach against Red's eye. "I
was savin' that one for yu, Reddie," he remarked, as he avoided Buck's
playful kick. "Yu fellers git to work an' dig up some wealth--I'm
hungry." Then he turned to Buck: "Yore th' marshal of this town, an' any
son-of-a-gun what don't like it had better write. Oh, yes, here comes
Tom Halloway--'member him?"

Buck turned and faced the miner and his hand went out with a jerk.

"Well, I'll be locoed if I didn't punch with yu on th' Tin-Cup!" he
said.

"Yu shore did an' yu was purty devilish, but that there Cassidy of yourn
beats anything I ever seen."

"He's a good kid," replied Buck, glancing to where Red and Hopalong were
quarreling as to who had eaten the most pie in a contest held some years
before.

Johnny, nosing around, came upon the perforated and partially scattered
piles of earth and twigs, and vented his disgust of them by kicking them
to pieces. "Hey! Hoppy! Oh, Hoppy!" he called, "what are these things?"

Hopalong jammed Red's hat over that person's eyes and replied: "Oh,
them's some loaded dice I fixed for them."

"Yu son-of-a-gun!" sputtered Red, as he wrestled with his friend in the
exuberance of his pride. "Yu son-of-a-gun! Yu shore ought to be ashamed
to treat 'em that way!"

"Shore," replied Hopalong. "But I ain't!"

CHAPTER XII. The Hospitality of Travennes

Mr. Buck Peters rode into Alkaline one bright September morning and
sought refreshment at the Emporium. Mr. Peters had just finished some
business for his employer and felt the satisfaction that comes with
the knowledge of work well done. He expected to remain in Alkaline
for several days, where he was to be joined by two of his friends and
punchers, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy and Mr. Red Connors, both of whom were
at Cactus Springs, seventy miles to the east. Mr. Cassidy and his friend
had just finished a nocturnal tour of Santa Fe and felt somewhat peevish
and dull in consequence, not to mention the sadness occasioned by
the expenditure of the greater part of their combined capital on such
foolishness as faro, roulette and we