"Don't yu git Shorty; he's my meat," suggested Skinny.

"Yu better tell Buck-he ain't got no love fer Shorty," replied Pete,
aiming carefully.

The panic in the corral ceased and Hopalong was now sending his
regrets against the panels of the rear door. He had cut his last
initial in the near panel and was starting a wobbly "H" in its
neighbor. He was in a good position. There were no windows in the rear
wall, and as the door was a very dangerous place he was not fired at.

He began to get tired of this one-sided business and crawled up on
the window ledge, dangling his feet on the outside. He occasionally
sent a bullet at a different part of the door, but amused himself by
annoying Buck.

"Plenty hot down there?" he pleasantly inquired, and as he received
no answer he tried again. "Better save some of them cartridges fer
some other time, Buck."

Buck was sending 45-70's into the shattered window with a precision
that presaged evil to any of the defenders who were rash enough to try
to gain the other end of the room.

Hopalong bit off a chew of tobacco and drowned a green fly that was
crawling up the side of the barn. The yellow liquid streaked downward
a short distance and was eagerly sucked up by the warped boards.

A spurt of smoke leaped from the battered door and the bored
Hopalong promptly tumbled back inside. He felt of his arm, and then,