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Mulford, Clarence Edward, 1883-1956

"Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up"

"
"How many'd yu get?" Asked Lanky Smith.
"Twelve. Two got away. I got two before th' crowd showed up-that
makes fo'teen."
"Now th' cavalry'll be huntin' yu," croaked Billy.
"Hunt nothin'! They was in war-paint-think I was a target?-Think I
was goin' to call off their shots for `em?"
They relayed at the Barred-Horseshoe and went on their way at the
same pace. Shortly after leaving the last-named ranch Buck turned to
Frenchy and asked, "Any of that outfit think they can play poker?"
"Shore. Waffles."
"Does th' reverend Mr. Waffles think so very hard?"
"He shore does."
"Do th' rest of them mavericks think so too?"
"They'd bet their shirts on him."
At this juncture all were startled by a sudden eruption from Billy.
"Haw! Haw! Haw!' he roared as the drift of Buck's intentions struck
him. "Haw! Haw! Haw!"
"Here, yu long-winded coyote," yelled Red, banging him over the head
with his quirt, "If yu don't `Haw! Haw!' away from my ear I'll make it
a Wow! Wow! What d'yu mean? Think I am a echo cliff? Yu slabsided
doodle-bug, yu!"
"G'way, yu crimson topknot, think my head's a hunk of quartz? Fer a
plugged peso I'd strew yu all over th' scenery!" shouted Billy,
feigning anger and rubbing his head.
"There ain't no scenery around here," interposed Lanky. "This here
be-utiful prospect is a sublime conception of th' devil.


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