LITMIR.BIZ

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fur ther back door."

      "Yer kin bet your life on that!" Cheyenne Charlie answered. "Hop likes his tanglefoot once in a while, an' he never loses a chance ter git it."

      "Well, if that's ther case I'd better go in an' wait on ther galoot, then," spoke up the proprietor of the place. "We ain't used ter seein' gals around here, an' I sorter hate ter leave, too. But business is business."

      The man spoke in a way that was not meant to be disrespectful, for what he had said was undoubtedly the truth. The few inhabitants of Big Bonanza were not in the habit of seeing female visitors.

      "Well, gentlemen," said Young Wild West, "we have just dropped in here by accident, and I reckon if there's no objection we'll camp around here somewhere until morning. We are making a trip across the state, and we are going in a straight line as much as possible. What we happen to strike makes little difference to us; whether it is a mining camp or a desert. We are used to all kinds of traveling, and generally go prepared for anything."

      "Talks like he was someone what sorter knows all about things, eh, boys?" remarked the cowboy who had called out that the Chinaman was heading for the back door to get into the saloon.

      "Yes," answered one of his companions, while the other gave a nod.

      "Looks as neat as a pin, too, don't he?" went on the man, who evidently took it that our hero was a boy fond of showing off in an expensive costume, and that he did not amount to a great deal.

      "They all look neat," one of the others observed. "Them gals is sartinly worth lookin' at, ain't they? They've struck it rich somewhere, an' ther first big town they come ter they've bought new clothes. I reckon I kin judge things all right."

      "So you think you can judge pretty well, eh?" said Young Wild West, as he dismounted. "Well, what do you take me to be?"

      "A putty smart boy, who thinks it looks nice ter have his hair long, an' who likes ter put on lugs 'cause he's got some putty gals with him," answered the cowboy, after a slight pause.

      "So that is your opinion, is it?"

      "I reckon it is, young feller."

      "Well, don't you think a person has a right to wear good clothes if he can well afford it?"

      "Oh, yes. I ain't sayin' nothin' about that. But clothes don't make ther man—or boy, either. How long have you been West, Sonny?"

      "How long have you been West?"

      "About fifteen years, I reckon."

      "Well, I can beat you by three or four years, then. Anything more you would like to know?"

      "Oh, tell him ter dry up, Luke!" said the first speaker. "What's ther use of talkin' ter ther young dandy? Him an' ther other boy has hired ther man they've got with 'em ter take 'em around an' show 'em ther sights; an' they've, got ther man rigged out in buckskin an' fancy trimmin's, jest ter make 'em all attract attention. I'll bet I'm right on that!"

      He turned to our hero as he said this and acted as though he was sure he was right.

      "How much will you bet, you windy galoot?"

      As Young Wild West said this he drew a roll of bills from his pocket and showed it to the three cowboys.

      It was just then that the saloon-keeper appeared in the door, and behind him was the Chinaman who had sneaked in at the rear door of the shanty.

      "What's all this talk about, gents?" he asked. "I hear some putty loud talk, so there must be somethin' goin' on."

      "Oh, there isn't anything going on yet; but there might be, if the fellows don't get a little more civil," our hero answered, coolly. "It seems that they are trying to pick a row just because we have on better clothes than they have. If they are looking for anything like that I reckon they can get it mighty quick."

      "Wow!" exclaimed the most talkative of the three cowboys. "Did you hear that, boys? Well, well! Who would have thought it?"

      Cheyenne Charlie acted as though he would like to take a hand in the controversy, but he managed to keep quiet.

      Jim Dart and the girls were looking on with smiles on their faces, while the Chinaman, looking out of the doorway, over the shoulder of the keeper of the saloon, actually grinned with delight.

      They all knew that Young Wild West was quite able to take care of all three of the men if it became necessary and they also knew that something was likely to happen very soon.

      The two companions of the talkative cowboy laughed uproariously.

      They evidently agreed with him that the boy was away off in his remarks.

      Cheyenne Charlie could keep still no longer.

      "Jest show ther galoots that yer ain't foolin', Wild," he said. "Shake 'em up it little."

      "Lat light, Misler Wild!" called out the Chinaman, from the door. "Makee allee samee be polite, so be."

      "Shet up, you heathen!" roared the nearest cowboy, and with that he caught the Celestial by the pig-tail and pulled him out.

      A kick followed this and the Son of the Flowery Kingdom let out a yell of pain.

      Biff!

      Young Wild West darted forward and struck the cowboy a blow on the breast that sent him reeling.

      "If you insist on it I'll give it to you good and straight," he said, calmly. "How do you like that?"

      Biff!

      This time he landed one on the man's ribs, and down he went in a heap.

      The other two started to interfere, but out went the boy's left and one of them landed on all fours in a jiffy.

      Spat!

      Our hero's right caught the other on the chin and he went, too.

      As was to be expected, all three of the cowboys made moves to pull their guns.

      But Young Wild West got ahead of them.

      "Let go of those playthings—quick!" he shouted. "I will show you galoots that you have got to be more civil with us. Get up and say you are sorry for interfering with us."

      There was something about the manner of the boy that told them that they really had made a mistake. The revolver was held by a hand that was steady as a rock, and there was no doubt in their minds but that lead would fly from it if they disobeyed.

      They let go their revolvers and scrambled to their feet.

      "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Cheyenne Charlie. "A fine lot of galoots you are! Young Wild West is only a boy, all right, but I reckon he kin lick a stagecoach load of sich fellers as you are! Make 'em do ther tenderfoot dance, Wild. Go on—jest fur fun!"

      "All right, Charlie," was the reply, and the young deadshot fired a shot that hit the ground near the feet of the spokesman of the trio.

      "Hold on!" the cowboy shouted. "It's all right, Young Wild West. I know who yer are now. I'll 'pologize. Don't shoot no more!"

      Crack!

      Again the boy fired, and then all three, knowing what was wanted of them, began to dance for all they were worth.

      Crack—crack!

      Cheyenne Charlie now took a hand in the game, and, while the girls and Jim Dart laughed merrily, the three cowboys did the "tenderfoot dance" in fine shape.

      Both Wild and the scout fired three or four shots apiece, and some of them took chips off the high heels of the boots the cowboys wore.

      "I reckon that will be about all," said our hero, as he ejected the shells from his revolver and then coolly proceeded to reload the chambers. "You galoots will know better the next time. I don't much like the looks of you, but I want to tell you that if you happen to take a notion to get square with us for what has happened you'll get the worst of it. I hope you understand what

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