"Oh, you ain't
crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' sort of made 'em leak a
little--that it? Or mebby them unholy green roses an' yaller grass on
that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are too much for _your_ eyes,
too!"
"Look ahere!" snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one fist
upraised. "I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel sharp's
tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you get any
smart about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool eyes if
you don't like my clothes!"
"Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a
real genuine hoss-thief!" enthused Mr. Cassidy. "You act like a twin
brother; but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?"
"An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just the
same," replied the thief. "I had to have it; that's why. I'll fight
you rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an'
shoot me besides: is it a go?"
Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and
spread slowly over his tanned countenance. "Yore gall is refreshing!
Damned if it ain't worse than the scarf. Here, you tell me what made you
take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon--I'm getting to like you,
bad as you are, hanged if I ain't!"
"Oh, what's the use?" demanded the other, tears again coming into his
eyes.
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