his belt. "Mebby he 's got some friends," he suggested, hopefully.
"Yes," smiled Hopalong, "mebby he has. An' anyhow, Sammy; you know yo're plumb careless with that gun. You might miss him. Lead th' way."
As they started toward Pete's Johnny nudged his bunkmate in the ribs: "Say; she ain't got no sisters, has she?" he whispered.
One hour later Sammy, his face slightly scratched, lounged into the kitchen and tossed his sombrero on a chair, grinning cheerfully at the flushed, saucy face that looked out from under a mass of rebellious, brown hair. "Well, I saw th' boss, an' I come back to make everythin' well again," he asserted, laughing softly. "That rough an' boisterous Mr. Clarke has sloped. He won't come back no more."
"Why, Sammy!" she cried, aghast. "What have you done?"
"Well, for one thing, I 've got you callin' me Sammy," he chuckled, trying to sneak a hand
