When he had vented the dangerous
pressure of his anger he went below and tried to fish the rifle in
with a long stick. It was obdurate, so he sent three more shots into
the door, and, receiving no reply, ran out around the corner of his
shelter and grasped the weapon. When half way back he sank to the
ground. Before another shot could be fired at him with any judgment a
ripping, spitting rifle was being frantically worked from the barn.
The bullets tore the door into seams and gaps; the lowest panel, the
one having the "H" in it, fell inward in chunks. Johnny had returned
for another smoke.
Hopalong, still grasping the rifle, rolled rapidly around the corner
of the barn. He endeavored to stand, but could not. Johnny, hearing
rapid and fluent swearing, came out.
"Where'd they git yu?" he asked.
"In th' off leg. Hurts like blazes. Did yu git him?"
"Nope. I jest come fer another cig; got any left?"
"Up above. Yore gall is shore apallin'. Help me in, yu twoIaigged
jackass."
"Shore. We'll shore pay our `tentions to that door. She'll go purty
soon-she's as full of holes as th' Bad Lan's," replied Johnny. "Git
aholt an' hop along, Hopalong."
He helped the swearing Hopalong inside, and then the lead they
pumped into the wrecked door was scandalous. Another panel fell in and
Hopalong's "C" was destroyed. A wide crack appeared in the one above
it and grew rapidly.
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