"Th' son-of-a-gun!" cried Buck, proud and delighted.
"Th' son-of-a-gun!" echoed Red, grinning.
CHAPTER VIII
Hopalong Keeps His Word
The waters of the Rio Grande slid placidly toward the Gulf, the hot
sun branding the sleepy waters with streaks of molten fire. To the
north arose from the gray sandy plain the Quitman Mountains, and
beyond them lay Bass Ca on. From the latter emerged a solitary figure
astride a broncho, and as he ascended the topmost rise he glanced
below him at the placid stream and beyond it into Mexico. As he sat
quietly in his saddle he smiled and laughed gently to himself. The
trail he had just followed had been replete with trouble which had
suited the state of his mind and he now felt humorous, having cleaned
up a pressing debt with his six-shooter. Surely there ought to be a
mild sort of excitement in the land he faced, something picturesque
and out of the ordinary. This was to be the finishing touch to his
trip, and he had left his two companions at Albuquerque in order that
he might have to himself all that he could find.
Not many miles to the south of him lay the town which had been the
rendezvous of Tamale Jose, whose weakness had been a liking for other
people's cattle. Well he remembered his first man hunt: the discovery
of the theft, the trail and pursuit and- the ending.
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