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Updated: June 16, 2025
While Hopalong's eyes left the scrambled color-insult and tried to banish the horrible after-image, his mind groped for the rules of etiquette governing free fist fights in gospel tents, and while he hesitated as to whether he should dent the classic profile of the color-bearer or just twist his nose as a sign of displeasure, the voice of the evangelist arose to a roar and thundered out.
I'll take yu if yu bets th' other way," responded Johnny, grinning. He knew Hopalong's weak spot. "Yore on," promptly responded Hopalong, who would bet on anything. "Well, so long," said Johnny as he crawled away. "Hey, yu, Johnny!" called out Hopalong, "don't yu go an' tell anybody I got any pills left. I ain't no ars'nal." Johnny replied by elevating one foot and waving it. Then he disappeared.
It had been Hopalong's intention to carry out what he had told Red and to go to Big Spring first and thence north along Sulphur Spring Creek, but to this his guide strongly dissented. There was a short cut, or several of them for that matter, was Pie's contention, and any one of them would save a day's hard riding.
The marshal, dazed and bewildered, stooped and fumbled for the badge. Then he stood up and glanced at the gun in his hand and at the eager man before him. He slid the weapon in his belt and drew his hand across his fast-closing eyes. Cursing streaks of profanity, he staggered to the door and landed in a heap in the street from the force of Hopalong's kick.
Poor thing, she works so hard I'm glad for her to have a little outing." "H'm, she gets one about twice a week," said Bob; "Hopalong's the cook, Patty. We call her that 'cause she isn't very lively, and she just shuffles about. But she's a good-natured old thing, and such a good cook " "Here, children, take this flock of cats," said Mrs.
That instinctive feeling which singles out two duellists in a card game was soon experienced by the others, who were careful, as became good players, to avoid being caught between them; in consequence, when the game broke up, Elkins had most of Hopalong's money. At one period of his life Elkins had lived on poker for five years, and lived well.
"Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was Hey! Wait a minute!" he shouted at Hopalong's back. "Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle quick!" cried Hopalong from the middle of the street as he ran towards the store.
An' git some .45's, mine's purty near gone." Johnny crawled down the arroyo and reappeared at Hopalong's barn. As he entered the door a handful of empty shells fell on his hat and dropped to the floor. He shook his head and remarked, "That mus' be that fool Hopalong." "Yore shore right. How's business?" inquired the festive Cassidy. "Purty fair. Billy's got one. How many's gone?"
I never did no ambushing, you coyote." "You can't make remarks like that an' get away with 'em I've knowed you too long," retorted Elkins, shifting quickly, and none too soon. "You went an' got Slim afore he was wide awake. I know you, all right." Hopalong's surprise was but momentary, and his mind raced back over the years. Who was this man Elkins, that he knew Slim Travennes?
"Yu'll have to square it with Skinny, he shore wanted Shorty plum' bad," Hopalong informed the unerring marksman. "Why didn't he say suthin' about it? Anyhow, Jimmy was my bunkie." Hopalong's cigarette disintegrated and the board at his left received a hole. He promptly disappeared and Buck laughed. He sat up in the loft and angrily spat the soaked paper out from between his lips.
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