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Another seaman went to the bar to hold a short, whispered consultation with the bartender, who at first frowned and then finally nodded assent. "Too far from home, if that's what yo're driving at," Hopalong replied. "Blast these hard trails my feet are shore on the prod. Ever meet my side pardner? Johnny, here's a friend of mine, a salt-water puncher, an' he's welcome to the job, too."
"Well, I'll be locoed if I didn't punch with yu on th' Tin-Cup!" he said. "Yu shore did an' yu was purty devilish, but that there Cassidy of yourn beats anything I ever seen." "He's a good kid," replied Buck, glancing to where Red and Hopalong were quarreling as to who had eaten the most pie in a contest held some years before.
As he crouched behind a rock he heard a yell from Hopalong, and saw that interested individual waving his sombrero to cheer him on. An angry pang! from the knoll caused that enthusiastic rooter to drop for safety. "Locoed son-of-a-gun," complained Pete. "He'll shore git potted." Then he glanced at Billy, who was the center of several successive spurts of dust.
If I can get her there on th' right spot he'll shore know it." He aimed carefully and fired. Through Pete's glasses Hopalong saw a leaden splotch appear on the rock and he notified the marksman that he was shooting high. "Put her on that bump closer down," he suggested. Skinny did so and another yell reached their ears. "That's a dandy.
Painfully raising himself on one elbow he looked around and caught sight of a man in the bunk across. It was Johnny Nelson! Then, bit by bit, the whole thing came to him and he cursed heartily as he reviewed it and reached the only possible conclusion. He was at sea! He, Hopalong Cassidy, the best fighting unit of a good fighting outfit, shanghaied and at sea!
They looked sheepish and nodded negatively in answer to the look of inquiry in his eyes. "They ain't got 'em yet," remarked Red slowly. Hopalong straightened up, his eyes narrowed and his face became hard and resolute as he led the way back toward the town. Buck rode up beside him and, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve, began to speak to Red. "We might look up th' Joneses, Red.
Suddenly the punchers were almost trapped and their escape made miraculous, for without warning the herd swerved and turned sharply to the right, crossing the path of the riders and forcing them to the east, showing Hopalong their silhouettes against the streak of pale gray low down in the eastern sky.
"Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can get blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right." "Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two hoss-wranglers an' a cook to come," retorted Hopalong, kicking the belligerent Johnny on the shins. "We're just about mad enough to tackle anything: ever feel that way?"
He glanced quickly past his foe and took in the scene with one flash of his eyes. There was the crowd, eager, expectant, scowling. There were Buck and Red, each lounging against a boulder, Buck on his right, Red on his left. Before him stood the only man he had ever feared. Hopalong shifted his feet and Thirsty, coming to himself with a start, smiled.
Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him forward on a run. "Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't that a house?" "Naw; course not! It's a it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What did you think it might be?" "G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission." "Ah, g'wan yoreself!
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