Cowan laid on his stummick on th'
roof of his place with a buffalo gun, an' the whole blamed town was
agin them. There wasn't five seconds passed that lead wasn't rippin'
through th' walls of their shack. Th' Houston House wasn't made for no
fort, an' besides, they wasn't like th' gang that's punchin' now.
That's why."
Hopalong became cheerful again, for here was a chance to differ from
his friend. The two loved each other the better the more they
squabbled.
"Yas!" responded Hopalong with sarcasm. "Yas!" he reiterated,
drawling it out. "Yu was in front of them, an' with what? Why, an'
old, white-haired, interfering Winchester, that's what! Me an' my
Sharp's-"
"Yu and yore Sharp's!" exploded Red, whose dislike for that rifle
was very pronounced. "Yu and yore Sharp's."
"Me an' my Sharp's, as I was palaverin' before bein' interrupted,"
continued Hopalong, "did more damage in five min-"
"Says yu!" snapped Red with heat. "All yu an yore Sharp's could do
was to cut yore initials in th' back door of their shack, an' -"
"Did more damage in five minutes," continued Hopalong, "than all th'
blasted Winchesters in th' whole damned town. Why-"
"An' then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yourn
exploded I shore thought th'-"
"Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be
a very poor shot) than yu an-"
"I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance.
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