"I wonder what's keepin' him-he's usually hangin' around
here bawlin' for his grub like a spoiled calf, long afore cookie's got
th' fire goin'."
"Mebby he rustled some grub out with him-I saw him tip-toein' out of
th' gallery this mornin' when I come back for my cigs," remarked
Hopalong, glancing at Billy.
Billy groaned and made for the gallery. Emerging half a minute later
he blurted out his tale of woe: "Every time I blows myself an' don't
drink it all in town some slab-sided maverick freezes to it. It's
gone," he added, dismally.
"Too bad, Billy-but what is it?" asked Skinny.
"What is it? Wha'd yu think it was, you emaciated match? Jewelry?
Cayuses? It's whisky-two simoleons' worth. Some-thin's allus wrong.
This here whole yearth's wrong, just like that cross-eyed sky pilot
said over to-"
"Will yu let up?" Yelled Red, throwing a sombrero at the grumbling
unfortunate. "Yu ask Buck where yore tanglefoot is.
"I'd shore look nice askin' th' boss if he'd rustled my whisky,
wouldn't 1? An' would yu mind throwin' somebody else's hat? I paid
twenty wheels for that eight years ago, and I don't want it mussed
none."
"Gee, yore easy! Why, Ah Sing, over at Albuquerque, gives them away
every time yu gits yore shirt washed," gravely interposed Hopalong as
he went out to cuss the cook.
"Well, what'd yu think of that?" Exclaimed Billy in an injured tone.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60