Waffles pushed back his chair, stood up and stretched. At the finish of a yawn he grinned at his late adversary. “I'm all in, yu old son-of-a-gun. Yu shore can play draw. I'm goin' to try yu again some time. I was beat fair an' square an' I ain't got no kick comin', none whatever,” he remarked, as he shook hands with Hopalong.
“Oh, we're that gang from th' O-Bar-O,” hummed the Kid as he sauntered in. One cheek was slightly swollen and his clothes shed dust at every step. “Who wins?” he inquired, not having heard Waffles.
“They did, blast it!” exploded Bigfoot.
One of the Kid's peculiarities was revealed in the unreasoning and hasty conclusions he arrived at. From no desire to imply unfairness, but rather because of his bitterness against failure of any kind and his loyalty to Waffles, came his next words:
“Mebby they skinned yu.”
Like a flash Waffles sprang before him, his hand held up, palm out. “He don't mean nothin'—he's only a ignorant kid!” he cried.
Buck smiled and wrested the Colt from Johnny's ever-ready hand. “Here's another,” he said. Red laughed softly and rolled Johnny on the floor. “Yu jackass,” he whispered, “don't yu know better'n to make a gun-play when we needs them all?”
“What are we goin' to do?” Asked Tex, glancing at the bulging pockets of Hopalong's chaps.
“We're goin' to punch cows again, that's what we're to do,” answered Bigfoot dismally.
“An' whose are we goin' to punch? We can't go back to the old man,” grumbled Tex.