"An' then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yourn exploded I shore thought th'"
"Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be a very poor shot) than yu an'"
"I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance. I could see yore red head"
"MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of his companion. "MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey, Frenchy, whose got th' reddest hair, me or Red?"
Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them. Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort of differentiating and smiled. "Why, if the tops of yore heads were poked through two holes in a board an' I didn't know which was which, I'd shore make a mistake if I tried to name 'em."
But Red had the last word. "Anyhow, you didn't have a Sharp's in that fight—you had a .45-70 Winchester, just like mine!"
Thereupon the discussion was directed at the judge, and the forenoon passed very pleasantly, Frenchy even smiling in his misery.
