"I had a little luck," admitted Dave modestly.

"Betcha," agreed Steve. "I was just startin' over to haul the fat guy off
Dave when he began bleatin' for us to come help him turn loose the bear.
I kinda took my time then."

"Onct I went to a play called 'All's Well That Ends Well,'" said Byington
reminiscently. "At the Tabor Grand the-á-ter, in Denver."

"Did it tell how a freckled cow-punch rode a fat tinhorn on his spurs?"
asked Hart.

"Bet he wears stovepipes on his laigs next time he mixes it with Dave,"
suggested one coffee-brown youth. "Well, looks like the show's over for
to-night. I'm gonna roll in." Motion carried unanimously.




CHAPTER IV

THE PAINT HOSS DISAPPEARS


Wakened by the gong, Dave lay luxuriously in the warmth of his blankets.
It was not for several moments that he remembered the fight or the
circumstances leading to it. The grin that lit his boyish face at thought
of its unexpected conclusion was a fleeting one, for he discovered that
it hurt his face to smile. Briskly he rose, and grunted "Ouch!" His sides