Then he
slipped his rifle in a loophole and waited for good shots, having
worked off the dangerous pressure of his exuberance.
Soon he heard a yell from the direction of the "Miner's Rest," and
fell to jamming cartridges into his revolvers so that he could sally
out and join in the fray by the side of Red.
The thunder of madly pounding hoofs rolled up the trail, and soon a
horse and rider shot around the corner and headed for the copse. Three
more raced close behind and then a bunch of six, followed by the rest,
spread out and searched for trouble.
Red, a Colt in each hand and hatless, stood up in his stirrups and
sent shot after shot into the fleeing mob, which he could not follow
on account of the nature of the ground. Buck wheeled and dashed down
the trail again with Red a close second, the others packed in a solid
mass and after them. At the first level stretch the newcomers swept
down and hit their enemies, going through them like a knife through
cheese. Hopalong danced up and down with rage when he could not find
his horse, and had to stand and yell, a spectator.
The fight drifted in among the buildings, where it became a series
of isolated duels, and soon Hopalong saw panic-stricken horses
carrying their riders out of the other side of the town. Then he went
gunning for the man who had rustled his horse. He was unsuccessful and
returned to his peaches.
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