Tense as the past quarter of an hour had been a titter ran along the car and, fuming impotently, the portly gentleman fled into the smoker.
"I 'll bet he had a six-dollar gun, too," laughed Red.
"I 'll bet he 's calling hisself names right about now," Hopalong replied. Then he turned to reply to a woman: "Yes, ma'am, we did. But they was n't real badmen."
At this a young woman, who was about as pretty as any young woman could be, arose and ran to Hopalong and, impulsively throwing her arms around his neck, cried: "You brave man! You hero! You dear!"
"Skinny! Red! Help!" cried the frightened and embarrassed puncher, struggling to get free.
She kissed him on the cheek, which flamed even more red as he made frantic efforts to keep his head back.
"Ma'am!" he cried, desperately. "Leggo, ma'am! Leggo!"
"Oh! Ho! Ho!" roared Red, weak from his mirth and, not looking to see what he was doing, he dropped into a seat beside another woman. He was on his feet instantly; fearing that he would have to go through the ordeal his friend was going through, he fled down the aisle, closely followed by Hopalong, who by this time had managed to break away. Skinny backed off suspiciously and kept close watch on Hopalong's admirer.
Just then the brakeman entered the car, grinning, and Skinny asked about the condition of the conductor.
"Oh, he 's all right now," the brakeman replied. "They shot him through the arm, but he 's repaired and out bossin' the job of clearin' the rocks off the track. He 's a little shaky yet, but he 'll come around all right."