Suddenly he turned around in the saddle and fired twice. One of his
pursuers fell forward on the neck of his horse, and his comrade turned
to help him. Thompson wig-wagged again and rode on, reaching the ranch
as the others were finishing their breakfast.
At the table Red Connors remarked that the tardy one had a hole in
his sombrero, and asked its owner how and where he had received it.
"Had a argument with C 80 out'n th' line."
"Go `way! Ventilate enny?"
"One."
"Good boy, sonny! Hey, Hopalong, Skinny perforated C 80 this
mawnin'!"
Hopalong Cassidy was struggling with a mouthful of beef. He turned
his eyes toward Red without ceasing, and grinning as well as he could
under the circumstances managed to grunt out "Gu-," which was as near
to "Good" as the beef would allow.
Lanky Smith now chimed in as he repeatedly stuck his knife into a
reluctant boiled potato, "How'd yu do it, Skinny?"
"Bet he sneaked up on him," joshed Buck Peters; "did yu ask his
pardin, Skinny?"
"Ask nuthin'," remarked Red, "he jest nachurly walks up to C 80 an'
sez, `Kin I have the pleasure of ventilatin' yu?' an' C So he sez, `If
yu do it easy like,' sez he. Didn't he, Thompson?"
"They'll be some ventilatin' under th' table if yu fellows don't
lemme alone; I'm hungry," complained Skinny.
"Say, Hopalong, I bets yu I kin clean up C 80 all by my lonesome,"
announced Buck, winking at Red.
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