He occasionally sent a bullet at a different part of the door, but amused himself by annoying Buck.
"Plenty hot down there ?" he pleasantly inquired, and as he received no answer he tried again.

"Better save some of them cartridges fer some other time, Buck." Buck was sending 45-70's into the shattered window with a precision that presaged evil to any of the defenders who were rash enough to try to gain the other end of the room.
Hopalong bit off a chew of tobacco and drowned a green fly that was crawling up the side of the barn.

The yellow liquid streaked downward a short distance and was eagerly sucked up by the warped boards.
A spurt of smoke leaped from the battered door and the bored Hopalong promptly tumbled back inside.

He felt of his arm, and then, delighted at the notice taken of his artistic efforts, shot several times from a crack on his right.

"This yer's shore gittin' like home," he gravely remarked to the splinter that whizzed past his head.