"You're lying! Any more of that an' I'll gimlet you!"
"What in h—l are you doing, Curley?" demanded Meeker, the girl question out of his mind instantly. He had been looking closely at Hopalong and didn't know that Curley was innocent of any attempt to use his Colt.
"I tell—"
"Get out of here! I've wasted too much time already. Go home, where that gun won't worry you. You, too, Meeker! Bring an imitation bad-man up here an' sayin' you didn't want my scalp! Flit!"
"I'll go when I'm d——d good and ready!" retorted Meeker, angry again. "You're too blasted bossy, you are!" he added, riding towards the man who had shot Doc.
A-looking for some place to land——
floated out of the chaparral and he stiffened in the saddle and stopped.
"Come on, Curley! We can't lick pot-shooters. An' let that gun alone!"
"D—n it! I tell you I wasn't going for my gun!" Curley yelled.
"Get out of here!" blazed Hopalong, riding forward.