cigarette, and in reaching for a match exposed his shoulder to a shot
that broke his collar bone. Skinny's rifle cracked in reply and the
offending brave rolled out from behind a rock. From the fuss emanating
from Hopalong's direction Skinny knew that his neighbor had been hit.

"Don't yu care, Hoppy. I got th' cuss," he said consolingly.
"Where'd he git yu?" he asked.

"In di' heart, yu pie-faced nuisance. Come over here an' corral this
cussed bandage an' gimme some water," snapped the injured man.

Skinny wormed his way through the thorny chaparral and bound up the
shoulder. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes. Shoot that bunch of warts an' blow that tobacco-eyed Gila to
Cheyenne. This here's worse than the time we cleaned out th' C 80
outfit!" Then he kicked the dead toad and swore at the sun.

Close yore yap; yore worse than a kid! Anybody'd think yu never got
plugged afore," said Skinny indignantly.

I can cuss all I wants," replied Hopalong, proving his assertion as
he grabbed his gun and fired at the dead Indian. A bullet whined above
his head and Skinny fired at the smoke. He peeped out and saw that his
friends were getting nearer to the knoll.

"They's closin' in now. We'll soon be gittin' home," he reported.

Hopalong looked out in time to see Buck make a dash for a bowlder
that lay ten yards in front of him, which he reached in safety. Lanky