As they neared the water hole they saw Hopalong sitting on a rock, his head resting in one hand while the other hung loosely from his knee.

He did not notice them when they arrived, and with a ready tact they sat quietly on their horses and looked in every direction except toward him.

The sun became a ball of molten fire and the sand flies annoyed them incessantly, but still they sat and waited, silent and apologetic.
Hopalong finally arose, reached for his sombrero, and, finding it gone, swore long and earnestly at the scene its loss brought before him.

He walked over to his horse and, leaping into the saddle, turned and faced his friends.

"Yu old sons-of-guns," he said.