"Come on, yu locoed-"
"Angels?" Queried Charley Lane, interrupting him. "Sweet things?"
breathed Hopalong in hopeful expectancy.
"Oh, blast it!" yelled the Kid as he ran out into the street to
escape the persecution.
"Good Kid, all right," remarked Waffles. "He'll go around an' lick
some Mexican an' come back sweet as honey."
"Did somebody say poker?" Asked Bigfoot, digressing from the Kid.
"Oh, yu fellows don't want no poker. Of course yu don't. Poker's
mighty uncertain," replied Red.
"Yah!" exclaimed Tex Le Blanc, pushing forward. "I'll just bet yu to
a standstill that Waffles an' Salvation'll round up all th' festive
simoleons yu can get together! An' I'll throw in Frenchy's hat as an
inducement."
"Well, if yore shore set on it make her a pool," replied Red, "an'
th' winners divide with their outfit. Here's a starter," he added,
tossing a buckskin bag on the table. "Come on, pile `em up."
The crowd divided as the players seated themselves at the table, the
O-Bar-O crowd grouping themselves behind their representatives; the
Bar-20 behind theirs. A deck of cards was brought and the game was on.
Red, true to his nature, leaned back in a corner, where, hands on
hips, he awaited any hostile demonstration on the part of the O-Bar-O;
then, suddenly remembering, he looked half ashamed of his warlike
position and became a peaceful citizen again.
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