Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the bartender and shoved his glass back again.  “One more, kind stranger; it’s good stuff.”

“Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun,” remarked Johnny, combining two thoughts in one expression, which is brevity.

The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and listened, a puzzled expression on his face.

Tic—­tickety-tick—­tic-tic, came strange sounds from the other side of the bar.  Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and Johnny gazed vacantly out of the window.

“What’s that?  What in the deuce is that?” quickly demanded the man with the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter.

Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic, the noise went on, and Hopalong, slowly rolling his eyes, looked at the floor.  A screw rebounded and struck his foot, while shot were rolling recklessly.

“Them’s making the noise,” Johnny explained after critical survey.

“Hang it!  I knowed we ought to ‘a’ got them wedges!” Hopalong exclaimed, petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath.  “Why, I won’t have no gun left soon ’less I holds it in.”  The complaint was plaintive.

“Must be filtering through the stopper,” Johnny remarked.  “But don’t it sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!”

The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes and peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover.  He had read of infernal machines although he had never seen one.  “What the blazes!” he exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went hard.  “You get out of here, quick!  You’ve had too much already!  I’ve seen drunks, but—­G’wan!  Get out!”

“But we ain’t begun yet,” Hopalong interposed hastily.  “You see—­”

“Never mind what I see!  I’d hate to see what you’ll be seeing before long.  God help you when you finish!” rather impolitely interrupted the bartender.  He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter with no hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride.  “G’wan, now!  Get out!”

“Come on, Johnny; I’d shoot him only we didn’t put no powder with the shot,” Hopalong remarked sadly, leading the way out of the saloon and towards the hardware store.

“You better get out!” shouted the man with the mallet, waving the weapon defiantly.  “An’ don’t you never come back again, neither,” he warned.

“Hey, it leaked,” Hopalong said pleasantly as he closed the door of the hardware store behind him, whereupon the clerk jumped and reached for the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter.  Sawed-off shotguns are great institutions for arguing at short range, almost as effective as dynamite in clearing away obstacles.

“Don’t you come no nearer!” he cried, white of face.  “You git out, or I’ll let this leak, an’ give you all shot, an’ more than you can carry!”