When the alkali dust had thinned he saw seven cow-punchers
sitting on the prostrate form of another, who was earnestly engaged in
trying to push Johnny Nelson's head out in the street with one foot as
he voiced his lucid opinion of things in general and the seven in
particular. After Red Connors had been stabbed in the back several
times by the victim's energetic elbow he ran out of the room and
presently returned with a pleased expression and a sombrero full of
water, his finger plugging an old bullet hole in the crown.
"Is he any better, Buck?" Anxiously inquired the man with the
reservoir.
"About a dollar's worth," replied the foreman. "Jest put a little
right here," he drawled as he pulled back the collar of the
unfortunate's shirt.
"Ow! wow! WOW!" wailed the recipient, heaving and straining. The
unengaged leg was suddenly wrested loose, and as it shot up and out
Billy Williams, with his pessimism aroused to a blue-ribbon pitch, sat
down forcibly in an adjacent part of the room, from where he lectured
between gasps on the follies of mankind and the attributes of army
mules.
Red tiptoed around the squirming bunch, looking for an opening, his
pleased expression now having added a grin.
"Seems to be gittin' violent-like," he soliloquized, as he aimed a
stream at Hopalong's ear, which showed for a second as Pete Wilson
strove for a half-nelson, and he managed to include Johnny and Pete in
his effort.
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