"Yah; yore a smart cuss, ain't yu?"
Johnny grinned and then said, "Got any smokin'? "Hopalong looked
grieved. "I ain't no store. Why don't yu git generous and buy some?"
He partially filled Johnny's hand, and as he put the sadly depleted
bag away he inquired, "Got any papers?"
"Nope."
"Got any matches? "he asked cynically.
"Nope."
"Kin yu smoke `em?" he yelled, indignantly.
"Shore nuff," placidly replied the unruffled Johnny. "Billy wants
some .45-70's."
Hopalong gasped. "Don't he want my gun, too?"
"Nope. Got a better one. Hurry up, he'll git mad." Hopalong was a
very methodical person. He was the only one of his crowd to carry a
second cartridge strap. It hung over his right shoulder and rested on
his left hip. His waist belt held thirty cartridges for the revolvers.
He extracted twenty from that part of the shoulder strap hardest to
get at, the back, by simply pulling it over his shoulder and plucking
out the bullets as they came into reach.
"That's all yu kin have. I'm Buck's ammernition jackass," he
explained. "Bet yu ten we gits `em afore dark" -he was hedging.
"Any fool knows that. I'll take yu if yu bets th' other way,"
responded Johnny, grinning. He knew Hopalong's weak spot.
"Yore on," promptly responded Hopalong, who would bet on anything.
"Well, so long," said Johnny as he crawled away.
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