"Chase th' flea ranch an' trail along!"

These were a few of the salutations discernible among the medley of
playful yells, the safety valves of supercharged good-nature.

"Skr-e-e!" yelled Hopalong Cassidy, letting off a fusillade of shots.
in the vicinity of Fleas, who rapidly retreated around the corner,
where he wagged his tail in eager expectation. He was not
disappointed, for a cow pony tore around in pursuit and Hopalong
leaned over and scratched the yellow back, thumping it heartily, and,
tossing a chunk of beef into the open jaws of the delighted dog,
departed as he had come. The advent of the outfit meant a square meal,
and the dog knew it.

In Cowan's, lined up against the bar, the others were earnestly and
assiduously endeavoring, with a promise of success, to get By-and-by
drunk, which endeavors coincided perfectly with By-and-by's idea of
the fitness of things. The fellowship and the liquor combined to thaw
out his reserve and to loosen his tongue. After gazing with an air of
injured surprise at the genial loosening of his knees he gravely
handed his rifle with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, to the cowboy
nearest him, and wrapped his arms around the recipient to insure his
balance. The rifle was passed from hand to hand until it came to Buck
Peters, who gravely presented it to its owner as a new gun.

By-and-by threw out his stomach in an endeavor to keep his head in
line with his heels, and grasping the weapon with both hands turned to
Cowan, to whom he gave it.