Gasping for breath, he held
out his hand and received a huge plug of tobacco, for Bigfoot had won
a contest.
Shouts of greeting were hurled at the newcomers and many questions
were fired at them regarding "th' latest from th' Hills." Waffles made
a rush for Hopalong, but fell over Big-foot's feet and all three were
piled up in a heap. All were beaming with good nature, for they were
as so many school boys playing truant. Prosaic cow-punching was
relegated to the rear and they looked eagerly forward to their several
missions. Frenchy told of the barb-wire fence war and of the new regu-
lations of "Smith of Buffalo" regarding cow-punchers' guns, and from
the caustic remarks explosively given it was plain to be seen what a
wire fence could expect, should one be met with, and there were many
imaginary Smiths put hors de combat.
Kid Morris, after vainly trying to slip a blue-bottle fly inside of
Hopalong's shirt, gave it up and slammed his hand on Hopalong's back
instead, crying: "Well, I'll be doggoned if here ain't Hopalong! How's
th' missus an' th' deacon an' all th' folks to hum? I hears yu an'
Frenchy's reg'lar poker fiends!"
"Oh, we plays onct in a while, but we don't want none of yore dust.
Yu'll shore need it all afore th' Hills get through with yu,"
laughingly replied Hopalong.
"Oh, yore shore kind! But I was a sort of reckonin' that we needs
some more.
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