"Sit down, Simms, an’ take a hand," he invited. Laughter arose continually and the fat man joined in it, leaning forward more closely to watch the play. Lanky tossed his cards face down on the board and grinned at the onlooker. "Billy shore bluffs more on a varigated flush than any man I ever saw." "Call him once in a while and he ’ll get cured of it," laughed the fat man, bracing himself as the train swung around a sharp turn. "He ’s too smart," growled Billy Williams. "He tried that an’ found I did n’t have no varigated flushes. Come on, Lanky, if yo ’re playing cards, put up." Farther down the car, their feet resting easily on the seat in front of them, Hopalong and Red puffed slowly at their large, black cigars and spoke infrequently, both idly watching the plain flit by in wearying sameness, and both tired and lazy from doing nothing but ride. "Blast th’ cars, anyhow," grunted Hopalong, but he received no reply, for his companion was too disgusted to say anything. A startling, sudden increase in the roar of the train and a gust of hot, sulphurous smoke caused Hopalong to look up at the brakeman, who came down the swaying aisle as the door slammed shut. "Phew!" he exclaimed, genially. "Why in thunder don’t you fellows smoke up?" Hopalong blew a heavy ring, stretched energetically and grinned: "Much farther to Sandy Creek?" "Oh, you don’t get off for three hours yet," laughed the brakeman. "That’s shore a long time to ride this bronc train," moodily complained Red as the singing began again. "She shore pitches a-plenty," he added. The train-hand smiled and seated himself on the arm of the front seat: "Oh, it might be worse." "Not this side of hades," replied Red with decision, watching his friend, who was slapping the cushions to see the dust fly out: "Hey, let up on that, will you! There’s dust a-plenty without no help from you!" The brakeman glanced at the card-players and then at Hopalong. "Do your friends always sing like that?" he inquired. "Mostly, but sometimes it’s worse." "On the level?" "Shore enough; they’re singing ’Dixie,’ now. It’s their best song." "That ain’t ’Dixie!’" "Yes it is: that is, most of it." "Well, then, what’s the rest of it?" "Oh, them’s variations of their own," remarked Red, yawning and stretching. "Just wait till they start something sentimental; you ’ll shore weep." "I hope they stick to the variations. Say, you must be a pretty nifty gang on the shoot, ain’t you?" "Oh, some," answered Hopalong. "I wish you fellers had been aboard with us one day about a month ago. We was the wrong end of a hold-up, and we got cleaned out proper, too." "An’ how many of ’em did you get?" asked Hopalong quickly, sitting bolt upright.