“Dod blast it, I tell you I ain’t got it!” retorted Dave, beginning to suspect that something was radically wrong.  “I ain’t seen it, an’ I don’t know nothing about it.”

Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve.  “Well, then, Tom or Art does, all right.”

“No, they don’t, neither; I watched ’em leave an’ they rode straight out of town, an’ went the other way, same as they allus do.”  Dave was getting irritated.  “Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, or is that animule of yourn really missing?”

“Huh!” snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. “’Ese prunes er purty good,” he mumbled, in grave congratulation.  “I don’ get prunes like ’ese very of’n.”

“I reckon you don’t!  They ought to be good!  Cost me thirty cents a half-pound,” Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet.  It didn’t take much of a loss to wipe out a day’s profits with him.

“An’ I don’t reckon you paid none too much for ’em, at that,” Mr. Cassidy responded, nodding his head in comprehension.  “Ain’t no worms in ’em, is there?”

“Shore there is!” exploded Dave.  “Plumb full of ’em!”

“You don’t say!  Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or try the apricots.  Ain’t no worms in them, anyhow.  But when am I going to get my cayuse?  I’ve got a long way to go, an’ delay is costly—­how much did you say these yaller fellers cost?” he asked significantly, trying another handful of apricots.

“On the dead level, cross my heart an’ hope to die, but I ain’t seen yore cayuse since you left here,” earnestly replied Dave.  “If you don’t know where it is, then somebody went an’ lifted it.  It looks like it’s up to you to do some hunting, ’stead of cultivating a belly-ache at my expense. I ain’t trying to keep you, God knows!”

Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse.  “Hey Dave; wait a minute!” and he dashed out of the store and made good time towards the liquid refreshment parlor.  Dave promptly nailed the covers on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while.  It looked like a plain case of horse-stealing to him.

“Stranger,” cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, “where did you see that cayuse of mine?”

“The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt’s Corners,” the stranger replied, grinning broadly.  “It’s a long walk.  Have something before you starts?”

“Damn the walk!  Who was riding him?”

“Nobody at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t being rid when I saw him.”

“Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!”

“Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain’t it?” smiled the stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke.

“You bet yore life it is!” shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale.  “You tell me who was leading him, understand?”