"About a dollar's worth," replied the foreman. "Jest put a little
right here," he drawled as he pulled back the collar of the
unfortunate's shirt.

"Ow! wow! WOW!" wailed the recipient, heaving and straining. The
unengaged leg was suddenly wrested loose, and as it shot up and out
Billy Williams, with his pessimism aroused to a blue-ribbon pitch, sat
down forcibly in an adjacent part of the room, from where he lectured
between gasps on the follies of mankind and the attributes of army
mules.

Red tiptoed around the squirming bunch, looking for an opening, his
pleased expression now having added a grin.

"Seems to be gittin' violent-like," he soliloquized, as he aimed a
stream at Hopalong's ear, which showed for a second as Pete Wilson
strove for a half-nelson, and he managed to include Johnny and Pete in
his effort.

Several minutes later, when the storm had subsided, the woeful crowd
enthusiastically urged Hopalong to the bar, where he "bought."

"Of all th' ornery outfits I ever saw-" began the man at the table,
grinning from ear to ear at the spectacle he had just witnessed.

"Why, hullo, Frenchy! Glad to see yu, yu old son-of-a-gun! What's
th' news from th' Hills?" Shouted Hopalong.

"Rather locoed, an' there's a locoed gang that's headin' that way.
Goin' up?" he asked.