"This ain't no fit society for six-shooters," Meeker remarked in a low voice as they slid over a ridge, and dropped ten feet before they knew it.
"For th' Lord's sake!" ejaculated Hopalong as he arose to his feet. "Step over a rock an' you need wings! Foller a nice trail an' you can't get out of th' cussed thing! Go west an' you land east, say 'so-long' to a friend an' you meet him a minute later!"
"We ought to have rifles in this game," Meeker remarked, rubbing his knee-cap ruefully.
"Yes; an' ladders, ropes, an' balloons," snorted Skinny.
"Send somebody back for th' guns," suggested Frenchy.
"Who?" demanded Hopalong. "Will you go?"
"Me? Why, I don't want no rifle!"
"Huh! Neither do I," remarked Skinny. "Here, Frenchy, give me a boost up this wall,—take my foot!"
"Well, don't wiggle so, you piece of string!"
"That's right! Walk backwards! I ain't no folding step-ladder! How do you think I'm going to grab that edge if you takes me ten feet away from it?"