“What for?” Asked Pete in surprise. “Didn't yu say yu shore wanted to see that scrap?”
“Shut yore face an' get scarce, or yu'll go home in cans!”
As Hopalong seated himself once more Red strolled up to the door and knocked. Hopalong ripped it open and Red, looking as fierce and worried as he could, asked Hopalong if he was all right. Upon being assured by smoking adjectives that he was, the caller looked relieved and turned thoughtfully away.
“Hey, yu! Come here!” called Hopalong.
Red waved his hand and said that he had to meet a man and clattered down the stairs. Hopalong thought that he, also, had to meet a man and, excusing himself, hastened after his friend and overtook him in the Street, where he forced a confession. Returning to his hostess he told her of the whole outrage, and she was angry at first, but seeing the humorous side of it, she became convulsed with laughter. Her father re-read his paragraph for the thirteenth time and then, slamming the magazine on the floor, asked how many times he was expected to read ten lines before he knew what was in them, and went down to the bar.
Miss Deane regarded her companion with laughing eyes and then became suddenly sober as he came toward her.
“Go to your foreman and tell him that you will shoot to-morrow, for I will see that you do, and I will bring luck to the Bar-20. Be sure to call for me at one o'clock: I will be ready.”
He hesitated, bowed, and slowly departed, making his way to Tom Lee's, where his entrance hushed the hilarity which had reigned. Striding to where Buck stood, he placed his hands on his hips and searched the foreman's eyes.
Buck smiled: “Yu ain't mad, are yu?” He asked.
Hopalong relaxed: “No, but blame near it.”