“Wait till Old John gets here,” suggested Jed to Charley. “He ought to know this feller.”
“For the Lord's sake!” snorted Charley. “He won't show up for a week. Did you hear that, fellers?” he laughed, turning to the others.
“Stranger,” began Stevenson, moving slowly ahead again. “You give us yore guns an' sit quiet till we gets this feller out of the way. We'll wait till Old John Ferris comes before doing anything with you. He ought to know you.”
“He knows me all right; an' he'd like to see me hung,” replied the stranger. “I won't give up my guns, an' you won't lynch Hopalong Cassidy while I can pull a trigger. That's flat!” He began to talk feverishly to gain time and his eyes lighted suddenly. Seeing that Jed White was wavering, Stevenson ordered them to go on with the work they had come to perform, and he watched Ferris as a cat watches a mouse, knowing that he would be the first man hit if the stranger got a chance to shoot. But Ferris stood up very slowly in his stirrups so as not to alarm the five with any quick movement, and shouted at the top of his voice, grabbing off his sombrero and waving it frantically. A faint cheer reached his ears and made the lynchers turn quickly and look behind them. Nine men were tearing towards them at a dead gallop and had already begun to forsake their bunched-up formation in favor of an extended line. They were due to arrive in a very few minutes and caused Mr. Ferris' heart to overflow with joy.
“Me an' my outfit,” he said, laughing softly and waving his hand towards the newcomers, “started out this morning to round up a bunch of cows, an' we got jackasses instead. Now lynch him, damn you!”
The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything in the nature of trouble that might zephyr up. “What's the matter, Ben?” asked Tom Murphy ominously. As under-foreman of the ranch he regarded himself as spokesman. And at that instant catching sight of the rope, he swore savagely under his breath.
“Nothing, Tom; nothing now,” responded Mr. Ferris. “They was going to hang my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20. He's the feller that lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick. I'm going to take him back to the ranch when he gets sober an' introduce him to some very good friends of hissn that he ain't never seen. Ain't I, Cassidy?” he demanded with a laugh.
But Mr. Cassidy made no reply. He was sound asleep, as he had been since the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, of Winchester.