“Yu poor sheep!” said Pete, and turning back to work he drove a .45 into a yellow moccasin. Hopalong began to itch and he saw that he was near an ant hill. Then the cactus at his right boomed out mournfully and a hole appeared in it. He fired at the smoke and a yell informed him that he had made a hit. “Go 'way!” he complained as a green fly buzzed past his nose. Then he scratched each leg with the foot of the other and squirmed incessantly, kicking out with both feet at once. A warning metallic whir-r-r! on his left caused to yank them in again, and turning his head quickly he the pleasure of lopping off the head of a rattlesnake with his Colt's. “Glad yu wasn't a copperhead,” he exclaimed. “Somebody had ought 'a' shot that fool Noah. Blast the ants!” He drowned with a jet of tobacco juice a Gila monster that was staring at him and took a savage delight in its frantic efforts to bury itself. Soon he heard Skinny swear and he sung out: “What's the matter, Skinny? Git plugged again?” “Naw, bugs--ain't they mean?” Plaintively asked his friend. “They ain't none over here. What kind of bugs?” “Sufferin' Moses, I ain't no bugologist! All kinds!” But Hopalong got it at last. He had found tobacco and rolled a cigarette, and in reaching for a match exposed his shoulder to a shot that broke his collar bone. Skinny's rifle cracked in reply and the offending brave rolled out from behind a rock. From the fuss emanating from Hopalong's direction Skinny knew that his neighbor had been hit. “Don't yu care, Hoppy. I got th' cuss,” he said consolingly. “Where'd he git yu?” he asked. “In di' heart, yu pie-faced nuisance. Come over here an' corral this cussed bandage an' gimme some water,” snapped the injured man. Skinny wormed his way through the thorny chaparral and bound up the shoulder. “Anything else?” he asked. “Yes. Shoot that bunch of warts an' blow that tobacco-eyed Gila to Cheyenne. This here's worse than the time we cleaned out th' C 80 outfit!” Then he kicked the dead toad and swore at the sun. “Close yore yap; yore worse than a kid! Anybody'd think yu never got plugged afore,” said Skinny indignantly. “I can cuss all I wants,” replied Hopalong, proving his assertion as he grabbed his gun and fired at the dead Indian. A bullet whined above his head and Skinny fired at the smoke. He peeped out and saw that his friends were getting nearer to the knoll. “They's closin' in now. We'll soon be gittin' home,” he reported.