Doc slid to a stand, his Colt out. "What do you think you're doing with that cow?"
"None of yore business!" Hopalong retorted.
Doc backed away so he could watch Lanky, his hand leaping up, and Hopalong fired. Doc dropped the weapon and grabbed at his right arm, cursing wildly.
"You half-breed!" cried Hopalong, riding closer. "Next time you gets any curious about what I'm doing, you better write. You're a fine specimen to pull a gun on me, you are!"
"You'll stop turnin' our cows, or you'll get a pass to h—l!" retorted Doc. "We won't stand for it no more, an' when th' boys hears about this you'll have all you can take care of."
"I ain't got nothing to do but ride th' line an' answer questions like I did yourn," Hopalong rejoined. "I will have lots of time to take care of any little trouble that blows up from yore way. But Meeker's th' man I want to see. Tell him to take a herd across this line, will you?"
"You'll see him!" snapped Doc. "An' you'll need to see him first, too."
"I don't pot-shoot—I'll leave that for you fellers. All I want is an even break."
"You'll get it," replied Doc, wheeling and riding off.
"Things are movin' so fast you better send for Buck," Lanky suggested. "Hell'll be poppin' down here purty soon."