"Did you get him?" queried Red.
"Nope; but I got his cayuse," Hopalong replied, shoving a fresh
cartridge into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. "An' here's where
I get him--got to square up for my eyes some way," he muttered, firing.
"Missed! Now what do you think of that!" he exclaimed.
"Better take my Winchester," suggested Red, in a matter-of-fact way, but
he chuckled softly and listened for the reply.
"Aw, you go to the devil!" snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. "Whoop!
Got him that time!"
"Where?" asked his companion, with strong suspicion.
"None of yore business!"
"Aw, darn it! Who spilled the water?" yelled Red, staring blankly at the
overturned canteen.
"Pshaw! Reckon I did, Red," apologized his friend ruefully. "Now of all
the cussed luck!"
"Oh, well; we've got another, an' you had to wash out yore eyes. Lucky
we each had one--_Holy smoke!_ It's most all gone! The top is loose!"
Heartfelt profanity filled the room and the two disgusted punchers went
sullenly back to their posts. It was a calamity of no small magnitude,
for, while food could be dispensed with for a long time if necessary,
going without water was another question. It was as necessary as
cartridges.
Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, thereby
revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his friends.
Pages:
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114