There's only one man in this country tonight that can earn that money, an' that's me," said the puncher.

"An' I don't need it," he added, smiling.
"But you are my prisoner--you are under arrest," enlightened the sheriff, rolling another cigarette.

The sheriff spoke as if asking a question.
Never before had five hundred dollars been so close at hand and yet so unobtainable.

It was like having a check-book but no bank account.
"I'm shore sorry to treat yu mean," remarked Hopalong, "but I was paid a month in advance an' I'll have to go back an' earn it." "You can--if you say that you will return," replied the sheriff tentatively.

The sheriff meant what he said and for the moment had forgotten that he was powerless and was not the one to make terms.
Hopalong was amazed and for a time his ideas of Mexicans staggered under the blow.