"
"I said yu made a mistake," said the other, turning to the cowboy in
a half apologetic manner.
"An' what else?" Insisted Jake.
"Why, ain't that all?" Asked the claim-jumper's friend in feigned
surprise, wishing that he had kept quiet.
"Well I reckons it is if yu can't back up yore words," responded
Jake in open contempt.
Hopalong grabbed the intruder by the collar of his shirt and hauled
him off the claim. "Yu keep off this, understand? I just kicked yore
marshal out in th' street, an' I'll pay yu th' next call. If yu
rambles in range of my guns yu'll shore get in th' way of a slug. Yu
an' yore gang wants to browse on th' far side of th' range or yu'll
miss a sunrise some mornin'. Scoot!"
Hopalong turned to his companion and smiled. "What'd he say?" He
asked genially.
"Oh, he jest shot off his mouth a little. They's all no good. I've
collided with lots of them all over this country. They can't face a
good man an' keep their nerve. What'd yu say to th' marshal?"
"I told him what he was an' threw him outen th' street," replied
Hopalong. "In about two weeks we'll have a new marshal an' he'll shore
be a dandy."
"Yes? Why don't yu take th' job yoreself? We're with yu."
"Better man comin'. Ever hear of Buck Peters or Red Connors of th'
Bar-20, Texas?"
"Buck Peters? Seems to me I have. Did he punch fer th' Tin-Cup up in
Montana, `bout twenty years back?"
"Shore! Him and Frenchy McAllister punched all over that country an'
they used to paint Cheyenne, too," replied Hopalong, eagerly.
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