Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his
companion had accosted a stranger.

"Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails.
Can you tell us where the docks are?"

"Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street," and he
smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T.
Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid.

"Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?" solicitously inquired Hopalong of
his companion.

"I was just wondering the same," replied Johnny. "Say," he confided in
a lower voice, "blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt.
Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel natural,
nohow."

"Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it," Hopalong responded.
"There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing."

"Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't."

"Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something," grinned Hopalong,
happily. "Here's a hardware store--come on in."

The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. "Good-morning, gentlemen;
what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles," he
suggested.