“Naw; course not! It's a—it's a ship!” Red snorted sarcastically. “What did you think it might be?”
“G'wan!” retorted his companion. “It's a mission.”
“Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?” Red snapped.
“What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?” hotly rejoined Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. “There! See the cross?”
“Shore enough!”
“An' there's tracks at last—mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same. Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this time.”
“Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't.”
“Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get him, not nohow,” declared Hopalong.
“Huh! You wait an' see!” replied Red, pugnaciously.
“Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard,” Hopalong responded, his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was concerned.