"Yes. Shoot that bunch of warts an' blow that tobacco-eyed Gila to
Cheyenne. This here's worse than the time we cleaned out th' C 80
outfit!" Then he kicked the dead toad and swore at the sun.
Close yore yap; yore worse than a kid! Anybody'd think yu never got
plugged afore," said Skinny indignantly.
I can cuss all I wants," replied Hopalong, proving his assertion as
he grabbed his gun and fired at the dead Indian. A bullet whined above
his head and Skinny fired at the smoke. He peeped out and saw that his
friends were getting nearer to the knoll.
"They's closin' in now. We'll soon be gittin' home," he reported.
Hopalong looked out in time to see Buck make a dash for a bowlder
that lay ten yards in front of him, which he reached in safety. Lanky
also ran in and Pete added five more yards to his advance. Buck made
another dash, but leaped into the air, and, coming down as if from an
intentional high jump, staggered and stumbled for a few paces and then
fell flat, rolling over and over toward the shelter of a split rock,
where he lay quiet. A leering red face peered over the rocks on the
knoll, but the whoop of exultation was cut short, for Red's rifle
cracked and the warrior rolled down the steep bank, where another shot
from the same gun settled him beyond question.
Hopalong choked and, turning his face away, angrily dashed his
knuckles into his eyes.
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