He had one hundred rounds of ammunition and
provisions enough for two weeks, with the assurance of reinforcements
long before that time would expire. He cut several rough loopholes and
laid out his weapons for quick handling. He knew that he could stop
any advance during the day and planned only for night attacks. How
long he could go without sleep did not bother him, because he gave it
no thought, as he was accustomed to short naps and could awaken at
will or at the slightest sound.
As dusk merged into dark he crept forth and collected several
handfuls of dry twigs, which he scattered around the hut, as the
cracking of these would warn him of an approach. Then he went in and
went to sleep.
He awoke at daylight after a good night's rest, and feasted on
canned beans and peaches. Then he tossed the cans out of the door and
shoved his hat out. Receiving no response he walked out and surveyed
the town at his feet. A sheepish grin spread over his face as he
realized that there was no danger. Several red-shirted men passed by
him on their way to town, and one, a grizzled veteran of many gold
camps, stopped and sauntered up to him.
"Mornin'," said Hopalong.
"Mornin'," replied the stranger. "I thought I'd drop in an' say that
I saw that gun-play of yourn yesterday. Yu ain't got no reason to look
fer a rush. This camp is half white men an' half bullies, an' th'
white men won't stand fer no play like that.
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