"Yu sing us a song.

Sing a nice little song." As the object of his remarks remained mute he let his thumb ostentatiously slide back with the hammer of the gun under it.

"Sing! Quick!" The man sang.
As Hopalong leaned forward to say something a stiletto flashed past his neck and crashed into the bottle beside him.

The echo of the crash was merged into a report as Hopalong fired from his waist.

Then he backed out into the Street and, wheeling, galloped across the plaza and again faced the saloon.