"Why did n't you pinch out th' fuse 'stead of blowing everything up, you half-breed?" Lanky asked.
"I reckon I was some hasty," grinned Red.
"It blowed me under th' car an' my lid through a windy," cried Billy. "An' Skinny, he went up in th' air like a shore-'nough grasshopper."
Hopalong joined them, grinning broadly: "Hey, reckon ridin' in th' cars ain't so bad after all, is it?"
"Holy smoke!" cried Skinny. "What's that a-popping?"
Hopalong, Colt in hand, leaped to the side of the train and looked along it, the others close behind him, and saw the fat man with his head and arm out of the window, blazing away into the air, which increased the panic in the coaches. Hopalong grinned and fired into the ground, and the fat man nearly dislocated parts of his anatomy by his hasty disappearance.
"Reckon he plumb forgot all about his fine, six-dollar gun till just now," Skinny laughed.
"Oh, he 's making good," Red replied. "He said he 'd take a hand if anything busted loose. It's a good thing he did n't come to life while me an' Hoppy was under his windy looking for laigs."
"Reckon some of us better go in th' cars an' quiet th' stampede," Skinny remarked, mounting the steps, followed by Hopalong. "They're shore loco."
The uproar in the coach ceased abruptly when the two punchers stepped through the door, the inmates shrinking into their seats, frightened into silence. Skinny and his companion did not make a reassuring sight, for they were grimy with burned powder and dust, and Hopalong's sleeve was stained with Red's blood.