“Shut up, Kid!” snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near. “I know just how you feel about it; feel that way myself. But there ain't a-going to be no fighting while I've got these cows on my han's. That gang'll be here when we come back, all right.”
“Mebby one or two of 'em won't,” remarked Hawkins, as he looked again over the carnage along the fence. “I never did much pot-shooting, 'cept agin Injuns; but I dunno—” He did not finish, for the strangers were almost at his elbow.
Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it without waste of time. “Who the hell busted that fence?” he demanded, belligerently, looking around savagely. Johnny's hand twitched at the words and the way they were spoken.
“I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?” replied Hopalong, very calmly,—so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion.
“Well, why didn't you go around?”
“Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the dark.”
“Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up for the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. You can't stampede through the other fence.”
“That so?” asked Hopalong.
“Reckon it is.”
“Yo're real shore it is?”