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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Yore eighteen to th' bad," replied the foreman. "Th' son-of-a-gun!" marveled Red, riding off. Another whoop interrupted them, and Billy quit watching out of the corner eye for pugnacious calves as he prepared for Hopalong. "Hey, Buck, this here cuss was with a Barred-Horseshoe cow," he announced as he turned it over to the branding man.
They relayed at the Barred-Horseshoe and went on their way at the same pace. Shortly after leaving the last-named ranch Buck turned to Frenchy and asked, "Any of that outfit think they can play poker?" "Shore. Waffles." "Does th' reverend Mr. Waffles think so very hard?" "He shore does." "Do th' rest of them mavericks think so too?" "They'd bet their shirts on him."
"O.K." replied Frenchy, anxious to even matters. Buck looked at his watch. "Seven o'clock we ought to get there by five if we relays at th' Barred-Horseshoe. Come on." "How are we goin' to git them?" Asked Billy. "Yu leave that to me, son.
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