"
"That's Aristotle, all hunk. He's th' chap that used to play
checkers with Deacon Rawlins. They used empty an' loaded shells for
men, an' when they got a king they'd lay one on its side. Sometimes
they'd jar th' board an' they'd all be kings an' then they'd have a
cussin' match," replied Hopalong, once more restored to good humor.
"Why," responded Jimmy, "he counted his wealth over twice by mistake
an' shore raised a howl when he went to blow it- thought he's been
robbed, an' laid behind th' houses fer a week lookin' fer th' feller
that done it."
"I've heard of that cuss-he shore was th' limit. What become of
him?" Asked the miner.
"He ambled up to Laramie an' stuck his head in th' window of that
joint by th' plaza an' hollered `Fire,' an' they did. He was shore a
good feller, all th' same," answered the bartender.
Hopalong laughed and started for the door. Turning around he looked
at his miner friend and asked: "Comin' along? I'm goin' back now."
"Nope. Reckon I'll hit th' tiger a whirl. I'll stop in when I
passes."
"All right. So long," replied Hopalong, slipping out of the door and
watching for trouble. There was no opposition shown him, and he
arrived at his claim to find Jake in a heated argument with another of
the gang.
"Here he comes now," he said as Hopalong walked up. "Tell him what
yu said to me.
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