The cook mumbled something about crazy hens not knowing when to quit cackling and climbed up in his wagon.

And that night Billy swore off drinking coffee.
When the dawn of the next day broke, Hopalong was riding toward the Black Hills, leaving Billy to untie himself as best he might.
The trip was uneventful and several weeks later he entered Red Dog, a rambling shanty town, one of those western mushrooms that sprang up in a night.

He took up his stand at the Miner's Rest, and finally secured six claims at the cost of nine hundred hard-earned dollars, a fund subscribed by the outfits, as it was to be a partnership affair.
He rode out to a staked-off piece of hillside and surveyed his purchase, which consisted of a patch of ground, six holes, six piles of dirt and a log hut.

The holes showed that the claims bad been tried and found wanting.
He dumped his pack of tools and provisions, which he had bought on the way up, and lugged them into the cabin.

After satisfying his curiosity he went outside and sat down for a smoke, figuring up in his mind how much gold he could carry on a horse.