it all true?"
"Huh! What true?"
"All that I have heard about him."
"Well, I dunno what you've heard," replied Dave, with grave caution,
"but I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, cowardice,
an' such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a short gun, all
right, but lemme tell you something mebby you
ain't
heard: There ain't
a square man in this part of the country that won't feel some honored
an' proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. Them's the
sentiments rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's gone an'
killed off a lot of men first an' last—but the only trouble there is
that he didn't get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too blamed long
when they went an' stacked up agin him an' that lightning short gun of
hissn. But, say, if yo're calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead
him gentle—don't push none. He comes to life real sudden when he's
shoved. So long; see you later, mebby."
The revivalist looked after him and mused, "I hope I was informed wrong,
but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most of these
men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of
them are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is drink."
When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two
men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When the
conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next
two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to the Bar-20
puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh
significantly.
"Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly
dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that," he laughed. "You play a
whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to move
along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to meet
Red an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can—it's
me
that wants revenge this time."
"Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do," smiled Dave.
"Say, Hoppy," advised Tom Lawrence, "better drop in an' hear the
sky-pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an'
it can't do you no harm, anyhow."
"You going?" asked Hopalong suspiciously.
"Can't—got too much work to do," quickly responded Tom, his brother Art
nodding happy confirmation.
"Huh; I reckoned so!" snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook hands
all around. "You all know where to find us—drop in an' see us when you
get down our way," he invited.
"Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy," remarked Dave, as his friend
mounted. "But come up again soon—an' be shore to tell all the boys we
was asking for 'em," he called.
Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he
might have been expecting a relay of "quarter" horses to keep it going,
but he pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is trying to the
temper of the best-mannered horse, and this particular animal was not in
the least good-mannered, wherefore its rider was obliged to soothe its
resentment in his own peculiar way, listening meanwhile to the loud and
impassioned voice of the evangelist haranguing his small audience.
"I wonder," said Hopalong, glancing through the door, "if them friends
of mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show
'em anyhow!" whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's
head, and strode through the doorway.
The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the
evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the
exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest
neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes fastened
themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong was hardened
to awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, but the
villainous riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious and
domineering green which flaunted
"Huh! What true?"
"All that I have heard about him."
"Well, I dunno what you've heard," replied Dave, with grave caution,
"but I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, cowardice,
an' such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a short gun, all
right, but lemme tell you something mebby you
ain't
heard: There ain't
a square man in this part of the country that won't feel some honored
an' proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. Them's the
sentiments rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's gone an'
killed off a lot of men first an' last—but the only trouble there is
that he didn't get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too blamed long
when they went an' stacked up agin him an' that lightning short gun of
hissn. But, say, if yo're calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead
him gentle—don't push none. He comes to life real sudden when he's
shoved. So long; see you later, mebby."
The revivalist looked after him and mused, "I hope I was informed wrong,
but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most of these
men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of
them are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is drink."
When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two
men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When the
conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next
two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to the Bar-20
puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh
significantly.
"Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly
dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that," he laughed. "You play a
whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to move
along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to meet
Red an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can—it's
me
that wants revenge this time."
"Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do," smiled Dave.
"Say, Hoppy," advised Tom Lawrence, "better drop in an' hear the
sky-pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an'
it can't do you no harm, anyhow."
"You going?" asked Hopalong suspiciously.
"Can't—got too much work to do," quickly responded Tom, his brother Art
nodding happy confirmation.
"Huh; I reckoned so!" snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook hands
all around. "You all know where to find us—drop in an' see us when you
get down our way," he invited.
"Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy," remarked Dave, as his friend
mounted. "But come up again soon—an' be shore to tell all the boys we
was asking for 'em," he called.
Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he
might have been expecting a relay of "quarter" horses to keep it going,
but he pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is trying to the
temper of the best-mannered horse, and this particular animal was not in
the least good-mannered, wherefore its rider was obliged to soothe its
resentment in his own peculiar way, listening meanwhile to the loud and
impassioned voice of the evangelist haranguing his small audience.
"I wonder," said Hopalong, glancing through the door, "if them friends
of mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show
'em anyhow!" whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's
head, and strode through the doorway.
The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the
evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the
exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest
neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes fastened
themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong was hardened
to awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, but the
villainous riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious and
domineering green which flaunted
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