"Seems to me, Charley," reproved Arnold, "that you are pretty familiar, for a boy; and especially on such short acquaintance. You might begin practicing the use of the word 'Mister.'" "Or say 'Uncle Red' and 'Uncle Hopalong,'" suggested Margaret. "'Red' is my name, an' I'm shore 'Red' to him," defended that person. "Which goes for me," spoke up his companion. "I'm Hopalong, or Hoppy to anybody in this family--though 'Uncle' suits me fine." "Then we'll have a fair exchange," retorted Margaret, smiling. "The family circle calls me 'Margaret' or 'Peggy.'" "If you want to rile her, call her Maggie," said Charley. "She goes right on th' prod!" "I'm plumb peaceful," laughed Red, turning to follow his host. "You help Mrs.--Margaret, an' when I come back you an' me'll figger on goin' after bear as soon as we can." CHAPTER III A QUESTION OF IDENTITY Johnny sauntered into Quayle's barroom and leaned against the bar, talking to Ed Doane. An hour or two before he had finished his dinner, warned his outfit again about the early start on the morrow, advanced them some money, and watched them leave the hotel for one more look at the town, and now he was killing time. "What do you think about Kane's?" asked Ed carelessly, and then looked up as a customer entered. When the man went out he repeated the question. Johnny cogitated and shrugged his shoulders. "Same as you. Reg'lar cow-town gamblin'-hall, with th' same fixin's, wimmin', crooked games, an' wise bums hangin' 'round. Am I right?" A group entered, and when they had been served they went into the hotel office, the bartender's eyes on them as long as they were in sight. He turned and frowned. "Purty near. You left a couple of things out. I'm not sayin' what they are, but I _am_ sayin' this: Don't you ever pull no gun in there if you should have any trouble. Wait till you get yore man outside. Funny thing about that--sort of a spell, I reckon--but no stranger ever got a gun out an' workin' in Kane's place. They died too quick, or was put out of workin' order." Johnny raised his eyebrows: "Mebby no good man ever tried to get one out, an' workin'." "You lose," retorted Ed emphatically. "Some of 'em was shore to be good. It's a cold deck--with a sharpshooter. There I go again!" he snorted. "I'm certainly shootin' off my mouth today. I must be loco!" "Then don't let that worry you. I ain't shootin' mine off," Johnny reassured him. "I'm tryin' to figger----" A voice from the street interrupted him. "Hey, stranger! Yore outfit's in trouble down in Red Frank's!" Johnny swung from the bar. "Where's _his_ place?" he asked. "One street back," nodded the bartender, indicating the rear of the room. "Turn to yore right--third door. It's a Greaser dive--look sharp!"