When the dawn of the next day broke, Hopalong was riding toward the
Black Hills, leaving Billy to untie himself as best he might.
The trip was uneventful and several weeks later he entered Red Dog,
a rambling shanty town, one of those western mushrooms that sprang up
in a night. He took up his stand at the Miner's Rest, and finally
secured six claims at the cost of nine hundred hard-earned dollars, a
fund subscribed by the outfits, as it was to be a partnership affair.
He rode out to a staked-off piece of hillside and surveyed his
purchase, which consisted of a patch of ground, six holes, six piles
of dirt and a log hut. The holes showed that the claims bad been tried
and found wanting.
He dumped his pack of tools and provisions, which he had bought on
the way up, and lugged them into the cabin. After satisfying his
curiosity he went outside and sat down for a smoke, figuring up in his
mind how much gold he could carry on a horse. Then, as he realized
that he could get a pack mule to carry the surplus, he became aware of
a strange presence near at hand and looked up into the muzzle of a
Sharp's rifle. He grasped the situation in a flash and calmly blew
several heavy smoke rings around the frowning barrel.
"Well?" He asked slowly.
"Nice day, stranger," replied the man with the rifle, "but don't yu
reckon yu've made a mistake?"
Hopalong glanced at the number burned on a near-by stake and
carelessly blew another smoke ring.
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