“All Are Welcome,” he spelled out slowly.  “Shore they are!” he muttered.  “I never nowhere saw such hard-working, all-embracing rustlers as them fellers.  They’ll stick their iron on anything from a wobbly calf or dying dogie to a staggering-with-age mosshead, an’ shout ‘tally one’ with the same joy.  Well, not for mine, this trip.  I’m going to graze loose an’ buck-jump all I wants.  Anyhow, if I did let him brand me I’d only backslide in a week,” and Hopalong pressed his pony to a more rapid gait as two men emerged from the tent.  “There’s the sky-pilot now,” he muttered—­“an’ there’s Dave!” he shouted, waving his arm.  “Oh, Dave!  Dave!”

Dave Wilkes looked up, and his grin of delight threatened to engulf his ears.  “Hullo, Cassidy!  Glad to see you!  Keep right on for the store—­I’ll be with you in a minute.”  When David told his companion the visitor’s name the evangelist held up his hand eloquently and spoke.

“I know all about him!” he exclaimed sorrowfully.  “If I can lead him out of his wickedness I will rest content though I save no more souls this fortnight.  Is it all true?”

“Huh!  What true?”

“All that I have heard about him.”

“Well, I dunno what you’ve heard,” replied Dave, with grave caution, “but I reckon it might be if it didn’t cover lying, stealing, cowardice, an’ such coyote traits.  He’s shore a holy terror with a short gun, all right, but lemme tell you something mebby you ain’t heard:  There ain’t a square man in this part of the country that won’t feel some honored an’ proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy.  Them’s the sentiments rampaging hereabouts.  I ain’t denying that he’s gone an’ killed off a lot of men first an’ last—­but the only trouble there is that he didn’t get ’em soon enough.  They all had lived too blamed long when they went an’ stacked up agin him an’ that lightning short gun of hissn.  But, say, if yo’re calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead him gentle—­don’t push none.  He comes to life real sudden when he’s shoved.  So long; see you later, mebby.”

The revivalist looked after him and mused, “I hope I was informed wrong, but this much I have to be thankful for:  The wickedness of most of these men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of them are vicious or contemptible.  Their one great curse is drink.”

When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete.  When the conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next two hours passed very rapidly.  They were expensive hours to the Bar-20 puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh significantly.

“Well, you’ve got it all; I’m busted wide open, except for a measly dollar, an’ I shore hopes you don’t want that,” he laughed.  “You play a whole lot better than you did the last time I was here.  I’ve got to move along.  I’m going east an’ see Wallace an’ from there I’ve got to meet Red an’ ride home with him.  But you come an’ see us when you can—­it’s me that wants revenge this time.”