"It shore ain't--but it's th' best we kin find," apologized Billy.

"That's th' sixth that feller sent up there. He's a damn poor shot,"
observed Johnny; "must be Shorty."

"Shorty kin shoot plum' good--tain't him," contradicted Billy.

"Yas--with a six-shooter. He's off'n his feed with a rifle," explained
Johnny.

"Yu wants to stay down from up there, yu ijit," warned Billy as the
disgusted Johnny crawled up the bank. He slid down again with a welt on
his neck.

"That's somebody else now. He oughter a done better'n that," he said.

Billy had fired as Johnny started to slide and he smoothed his aggrieved
chum. "He could onct, yu means."

"Did yu git him?" asked the anxious Johnny, rubbing his welt. "Plum'
center," responded the business-like Billy. "Go up agin, mebby I kin git
another," he suggested tentatively.

"Mebby you kin go to blazes. I ain't no gallery," grinned the now
exuberant owner of the welt.

"Who's got the buffalo?" he inquired as the great gun roared.

"Mus' be Cowan. He's shore all right. Sounds like a bloomin' cannon,"
replied Billy. "Lemme alone with yore fool questions, I'm busy," he
complained as his talkative partner started to ask another. "Go an' git
me some water--I'm alkalied. 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?"

"Buck's got three, I got two and Skinny's got one. That's six, an' Billy
is seven. They's five more," he replied.

"How'd yu know?" queried Johnny as he filled his flask at the horse
trough.

"Because they's twelve cayuses behind the hotel. That's why."

"They might git away on 'em," suggested the practical Johnny.

"Can't. They's all cashed in."

"Yu said that they's five left," ejaculated the puzzled water carrier.

"Yah; yore a smart cuss, ain't yu?"

Johnny grinned and then said, "Got any smokin'?" Hopalong looked
grieved. "I ain't no store. Why don't yu git generous and buy some?"

He partially filled Johnny's hand, and as he put the sadly depleted bag
away he inquired, "Got any papers?"

"Nope."

"Got any matches?" he asked cynically.

"Nope."

"Kin yu smoke 'em?" he yelled, indignantly.

"Shore nuf