"Yu leave that to me, son. Hopalong an' Frenchy'll tend to that part of it," replied Buck, making for his horse and swinging into the saddle, an example which was followed by the others, including Frenchy.
As they swung off Buck noticed the condition of Frenchy's mount and halted. "Yu take that cayuse back an' get Cowan's," he ordered.
"That cayuse is good for Cheyenne—she eats work, an' besides I wants my own," laughed Frenchy.
"Yu must had a reg'lar picnic from th' looks of that crease," volunteered Hopalong, whose curiosity was mastering him.
"Shoo! I had a little argument with some feather dusters—th' O-Bar-O crowd cleaned them up."
"That so?" asked Buck.
"Yep! They sorter got into th' habit of chasin' me to Las Cruces an' forgot to stop."
"How many'd yu get?" asked Lanky Smith.
"Twelve. Two got away. I got two before th' crowd showed up—that makes fo'teen."
"Now th' cavalry'll be huntin' yu," croaked Billy.
"Hunt nothin'! They was in war-paint—think I was a target?—think I was goin' to call off their shots for 'em?"
They relayed at the Barred-Horseshoe and went on their way at the same pace. Shortly after leaving the last-named ranch Buck turned to Frenchy and asked, "Any of that outfit think they can play poker?"
"Shore. Waffles."
"Does th' reverend Mr. Waffles think so very hard?"
"He shore does."
"Do th' rest of them mavericks think so too?"
"They'd bet their shirts on him."
At this juncture all were startled by a sudden eruption from
