"No. I ain't got here yet—I'm only half way," Johnny retorted. "Can't you see I'm here? An' I didn't care about you waking up. I wanted to get here, an' here I am."
"In th' name of heaven, are you drunk, or crazy?" asked Red. "Of all th' d—n fools I ever—"
"Oh, shut up, all of you!" growled Skinny, turning over in his bunk. "Lot of locoed cusses that don't know enough to keep still! Let th' Kid alone, why don't you!" he muttered, and was sound asleep again.
"No, I ain't drunk or crazy! Think I was going to stay up there when you two fellers are going off scouting to-morrow? Not by a jugful! I ain't letting nothing get past me, all right," Johnny rejoined.
"Well, you ain't a-going, anyhow," muttered Hopalong, crawling into his bunk again. "You've got to stay with Skinny—" he did not speak very loud, because he knew it would cause an argument, and he wished to sleep instead of talk.
"What'd you say?" demanded Johnny.
"For G-d's sake!" marvelled Red. "Can't nobody go an' scratch 'emselves unless th' Kid is on th' ground? Come in here an' get to sleep, you coyote!"
Adown th' road, his gun in hand,
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey—
Johnny hummed. "Hey! What you doing?" he yelled, leaping back.
"You heave any more guns on my face an' you'll find out!" roared Skinny, sitting up and throwing Johnny's Colt and belt to the floor. "Fool infant!"