of dust racing northward, and grunted. "Let them go—they won't never come back no more." Running to the cowpuncher he raised him after a hurried examination of the wounded thigh. "Hop along, Cassidy," he smiled in encouragement. "You 'll be a better man with one good laig than th' whole gang was all put together."
The puncher smiled faintly as Hawley, running to them, helped him toward his hotel. "Th' bone is plumb smashed. I reckon I 'll hop along through life. It 'll be hop along, for me, all right. That's my name, all right. Huh! Hopalong Cassidy! But I didn't hop into h—l, did I, Harris?" he grinned bravely.
And thus was born a nickname that found honor and fame in the cow-country—a name that stood for loyalty, courage and most amazing gun-play. I have Red's word for this, and the endorsement of those who knew him at the time. And from this on, up to the time he died, and after, we will forsake "Bill" and speak of him as Hopalong Cassidy, a cowpuncher who lived
