noise. Bottles
shook and the air was fogged with smoke and dust. Suddenly, his belt
slipping and letting his chaps fall around his ankles, he tripped and
sat down heavily. Gasping for breath, he held out his hand and received
a huge plug of tobacco, for Bigfoot had won a contest.

Shouts of greeting were hurled at the newcomers and many questions were
fired at them regarding "th' latest from th' Hills." Waffles made a rush
for Hopalong, but fell over Big-foot's feet and all three were piled up
in a heap. All were beaming with good nature, for they were as so many
school boys playing truant. Prosaic cow-punching was relegated to the
rear and they looked eagerly forward to their several missions. Frenchy
told of the barb-wire fence war and of the new regulations of "Smith
of Buffalo" regarding cow-punchers' guns, and from the caustic remarks
explosively given it was plain to be seen what a wire fence could
expect, should one be met with, and there were many imaginary Smiths put
hors de combat.

Kid Morris, after vainly trying to slip a blue-bottle fly inside of
Hopalong's shirt, gave it up and slammed his hand on Hopalong's back
instead, crying: "Well, I'll be doggoned if here ain't Hopalong! How's
th' missus an' th' deacon an' all th' folks to hum? I hears yu an'
Frenchy's reg'lar poker fiends!"

"Oh, we plays onct in a while, but we don't want none of yore dust.
Yu'll shore need it all afore th' Hills get through with yu," laughingly
replied Hopalong.

"Oh, yore shore kind! But I was a sort of reckonin' that we needs some
more. Perfesser P. D. Q. Waffles is our poker man an' he shore can clean
out anything I ever saw. Mebbe yu fellers feel reckless-like an' would
like to make a pool," he cried, addressing the outfit of the Bar-20,
"an' back yore boss of th' full house agin ourn?"

Red turned slowly around and took a full minute in which to size the Kid
up. Then he snorted and turned his back again.

The Kid stared at him in outraged dignity. "Well, what say!" he softly
murmured. Then he leaped forward and walloped Red on the back.
"Hey, yore royal highness!" he shouted. "Yu-yu-yu-oh, hang it-yu! Yu
slab-sided, ring-boned, saddle-galled shade of a coyote, do yu think I'm
only meanderin' in th' misty vales of-of--"

Suggestions intruded from various sources. "Hades?" offered Hopalong.
"Cheyenne?" Murmured Johnny. "Misty mistiness of misty?" tentatively
supplied Waffles.

Red turned around again. "Better come up