The swing doors of the Wild West saloon crashed open and in came Little Pete, black with fury. “All right!” he raged, “all right! Who did it?

What goldarned varmint painted my horse blue?

” The huge figure of Black Jake, notorious gunfighter and town baddie rose from a chair by the door. “It was me, shrimp,” he drawled, bunching his gigantic fists, “what about it?

” “Oh, well, er,” stammered little Pete wretchedly, “all I wanted to say was. . .when are you going to give it another coat?

“