eplied the proprietor, tossing Buck's quarter in the
cash box. "But, say, you should oughter see his rig."

"Yaas?"

"He's shore a cow-punch dude--my, but he's some sumptious an'
highfalutin'. An' bad? Why, he reckons th' Lord never brewed a more
high-toned brand of cussedness than his'n. He shore reckons he's the
baddest man that ever simmered."

"How'd he look as th' leadin' man in a necktie festival?" Blazed Johnny
from across the room, feeling called upon to help the conversation.

"He'd be a howlin' success, son," replied Skinny Thompson, "judgin' by
his friends what we elevated over in th' Panhandle."

Lanky Smith leaned forward with his elbow on the table, resting his chin
in the palm of his hand: "Is Ewalt still a-layin' for yu, Hopalong?" He
asked.

Hopalong turned wearily and tossed his half-consumed cigarette into the
box of sand which did duty as a cuspidore: "I reckon so; an' he shore
can hatch whenever he gets good an ready, too."

"He's probably a-broodin' over past grievances," offered Johnny, as
he suddenly pushed Lanky's elbow from the table, nearly causing a
catastrophe.

"Yu'll be broodin' over present grievances if yu don't look out, yu
everlastin' nuisance yu," growled Lanky, planting his elbow in its
former position with an emphasis which conveyed a warning.

"These bantams ruflle my feathers," remarked Red. "They go around
braggin' about th' egg they're goin' to lay an' do enough cacklin'
to furnish music for a dozen. Then when th' affair comes off yu'll
generally find they's been settin' on a door-knob."

"Did yu ever see a hen leave th' walks of peace an' bugs an' rustle
hell-bent across th' trail plumb in front of a cayuse?" Asked Buck.
"They'll leave off rustlin' grub an' become candidates for th' graveyard
just for cussedness. Well, a whole lot of men are th' same way. How many
times have I seen them swagger into a gin shop an' try to run things
sudden an' hard, an' that with half a dozen better men in th' same room?
There's shore a-plenty of trouble a-comin' to every man without rustlin'
around for more.

"'Member that time yu an' Frenchy tried to run th' little town of Frozen
Nose, up in Montana?" Asked Johnny, winking at the rest.

"An' we did run it, for a while," responded Buck. "But that only goes to
show that most young men are chumps--we were just about yore age then."

Red laughed at the youngster's discomfiture: "That little squib of yourn
shore touched her off--I r