"All yu an yore Sharp's could do was to cut yore initials in th' back door of their shack, an'-- --" "Did more damage in five minutes," continued Hopalong, "than all th' blasted Winchesters in th' whole damned town.

Why--" "An' then they was cut blamed poor.

Every time that cannon of yourn exploded I shore thought th'-- " "Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be a very poor shot) than yu an--" "I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance.

I could see yore red head--" "MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of his companion.

"MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey, Frenchy, who's got th' reddest hair, me or Red ?" Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them.
Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort of differentiating and smiled.