timid. Wearily laying aside his reading, he strode to the door, expecting to hear a lengthy complaint from one of his townsmen. As he threw the door wide open the light streamed out and lighted up a revolver and behind it the beaming face of a cowboy, who grinned.
"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated the sheriff, starting back in amazement.
"Don't say that, sheriff; you've got lots of time to reform," replied a humorous voice. "How's th' wings?"
"Almost well: you were considerate," responded the sheriff.
"Let's go in—somebody might see me out here an' get into trouble," suggested the visitor, placing his foot on the sill.
"Certainly—pardon my discourtesy," said the sheriff. "You see, I wasn't expecting you to-night," he explained, thinking of the elaborate preparations that he would have gone to if he had thought the irrepressible would call.
"Well, I was down this way, an' seeing as how I had promised to drop in I just natchurally dropped," replied Hopalong as he took the chair proffered by his host.
After talking awhile on everything and nothing the sheriff coughed and looked uneasily at his guest.
"Mr. Cassidy, I am sorry you called, for I like men of your energy and courage and I very much dislike to arrest you," remarked the sheriff. "Of course you understand that you are under arrest," he added with anxiety.
"Who, me?" asked Hopalong with a rising inflection.
"Most assuredly," breathed the sheriff.
"Why, this is the first time I ever heard anything about it," replied the astonished cow-puncher. "I'm an American—don't that make any difference?"
"Not in this case, I'm afraid. You see, it's for manslaughter."
"Well, don't that beat th' devil, now?" said Hopalong. He felt sorry that a citizen of the glorious United States should
