“Huh!” laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun, closely followed by Hopalong. “Anybody that can turn that little trick on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to Kansas City!”
As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a musical jingling. “If them weak people try anything on us, we may come between them and their money!” he boasted.
“From the bottom of my heart I pity you,” called the marshal, watching them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. “In about twenty-four hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em,” he muttered. “An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching heads—an' the smarter they think they are the easier they fall.” A fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under its sky and watched its stars. “An' I wish I was one of 'em again,” he muttered, sauntering on.
Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry, waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose, and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could lose him when it came to doing the right thing.
“Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever located, in part or entirety, ab initio,” Mr. Jones remarked, filling glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he continued: “Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was expecting you. We'll get right at it,” and they did. Half an hour later they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the town take them in,—which was usually the case.
“What was that he said for us to keep away from?” asked Johnny with keen interest.
“Sh! Not so loud,” chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously.
Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his companion had accosted a stranger.
“Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails. Can you tell us where the docks are?”
“Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street,” and he smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T. Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid.