y lay behind a rock to one side of Buck, me an' Lanky
was across th' Street in front of them, an' Billy an' Johnny was in th'
arroyo on th' other side. Cowan laid on his stummick on th' roof of his
place with a buffalo gun, an' the whole blamed town was agin them. There
wasn't five seconds passed that lead wasn't rippin' through th' walls
of their shack. Th' Houston House wasn't made for no fort, an' besides,
they wasn't like th' gang that's punchin' now. That's why."

Hopalong became cheerful again, for here was a chance to differ from his
friend. The two loved each other the better the more they squabbled.

"Yas!" responded Hopalong with sarcasm. "Yas!" he reiterated, drawling
it out. "Yu was in front of them, an' with what? Why, an' old,
white-haired, interfering Winchester, that's what! Me an' my Sharp's--"

"Yu and yore Sharp's!" exploded Red, whose dislike for that rifle was
very pronounced. "Yu and yore Sharp's."

"Me an' my Sharp's, as I was palaverin' before bein' interrupted,"
continued Hopalong, "did more damage in five min--"

"Says yu!" snapped Red with heat. "All yu an yore Sharp's could do was
to cut yore initials in th' back door of their shack, an'----"

"Did more damage in five minutes," continued Hopalong, "than all th'
blasted Winchesters in th' whole damned town. Why--"

"An' then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yourn
exploded I shore thought th'--"

"Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be a
very poor shot) than yu an--"

"I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance. I could see
yore red head--"

"MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of his
companion. "MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey,
Frenchy, who's got th' reddest hair, me or Red?"

Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them.
Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort of
differentiating and smiled. "Why, if the tops of yore heads were poked
through two holes in a board an' I didn't know which was which, I'd
shore make a mistake if I tried to name 'em"

But Red had the last word. "Anyhow, you didn't have a Sharp's in that
fight--you had a .45-70 Winchester, just like mine!"

Thereupon the discussion was directed at the judge, and the forenoon
passed very pleasantly, Frenchy even smiling in his misery.

CHAPTER XIX. Hopalong's Decision

Shortly after noon, Hopalong, who had