“This yere,” said Red in belligerent disgust, “is th' dod-blasted hero what's a-goin' to save Hopalong from a mournful future. What are we a-goin' to do?”
Buck slipped the Colt's from Billy's holster and yanked the erring one to his feet: “Fill him full of sweet oil, source him in th' trough, walk him around for awhile an' see what it does,” he ordered.
Two hours later Billy walked up to his foreman and weakly asked what was wanted. He looked as though he had just been released from a six-months' stay in a hospital.
“Yu go over to th' hotel an' find Hopalong,” said the foreman sternly. “Stay with him all th' time, for there is a plot on foot to wing him on th' sly. If yu ain't mighty spry he'll be dead by night.”
Having delivered the above instructions and prevarications, Buck throttled the laugh which threatened to injure him and scowled at Red, who again fled into the saloon for fear of spoiling it all with revealed mirth.
The convalescent stared in open-mouthed astonishment:
“What's he doin' in th' hotel, an' who's goin' to plug him?” He asked.
“Yu leave that to me,” replied Buck, “All yu has to do is to get on th' job with yore gun,” handing the weapon to him, “an' freeze to him like a flea on a cow. Mebby there'll be a woman in th' game, but that ain't none of yore funeral—yu do what I said.”
“Blast th' women!” exploded Billy, moving off. When he had entered the hotel Buck went in to Red.
“For Pete's sake!” moaned that person in senseless reiteration. “Th' Lord help Billy! Holy Mackinaw!” he shouted. “Gimme a drink an' let me tell th' boys.”