"Eh, does he--make excuses?" asked Dent, mildly surprised.

"He does to _us_," retorted Red savagely. "He's worse than a woman; take
him all in all an' you've got the toughest proposition that ever wore
pants. But he's a good feller, at that."

"Well, you've got a lot of nerve, you have!" retorted Hopalong. "You
don't want to say anything about the Kid--if there's anybody that can
beat him in being late an' acting the fool generally, it's you. An'
what's more, you know it!"

Red wheeled to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden uproar outside,
fluent swearing coming towards the house. The door opened with a bang,
admitting a white-faced, big-eyed man with one leg jammed through the
box he had landed on in dismounting.

"Gimme a drink, quick!" he shouted wildly, dragging the box over to
the bar with a cheerful disregard for chairs and other temporary
obstructions. "Gimme a drink!" he reiterated.

"Give you six hops in the neck!" yelled Red, missing and almost sitting
down because of the enthusiasm he had put into his effort. Johnny
side-stepped and ducked, and as he straightened up to ask for whys
and wherefores, Red's eyes opened wide and he paused in his further
intentions to stare at the apparition.

"Sick?" queried Hopalong, who was frightened.

"Gimme that drink!" demanded Johnny feverishly, and when he had it he
leaned against the bar and mopped his face with a trembling hand.