Part 16 (1/2)

”I want that message,” I said, as soon as I could.

”What message?” he growled back, from over his gun.

”That Scouts' message you took from the fellow who took it from us.”

”Oh, h.e.l.lo!” he grinned. ”Were you there? They let you go, did they?”

”No; I got away to follow you. I want that message.”

”Why, sure,” he said. ”If that's all you want.” And he seemed relieved.

”Come and get it.” He stuck his free hand behind him and fumbled, and then he held up the package.

I started right up, but Scout Ward sprang ahead of me. ”I'll get it. You and Van stay behind,” he bade.

He didn't wait for us to say yes, but walked for the rock; and just as he reached it, and was stretching to take the package, the man, with a big oath, jumped for him.

Jumped for him, and grabbed for him, sprawling out like a black cougar.

Van Sant and I yelled, sharp; Ward dodged and tripped and went rolling; and as the man jumped for him again I shot my arrow at him. I couldn't help it, I was so mad. The arrow was crooked, where it had been mended (I really didn't try to hurt him), and maybe it _went_ crooked; but anyway it hit him in the calf of the leg and stayed there. I didn't think I had shot so hard.

The man uttered a quick word, and sat down. His face was screwed and he glared about at us, with his pistol muzzle wavering and sweeping like a snake's tongue. That arrow probably hurt. It hadn't gone in very far, but it was stuck.

”I'll kill one of you for that,” he snarled.

”No, you won't,” answered Scout Ward, scrambling up and facing him. ”If you killed one you'd have to kill all three, and then you'd be hanged anyway.”

”You got just what was coming to you for acting so mean,” added Scout Van Sant. ”You grabbed for Ward and we had to protect him.”

They weren't afraid, a particle, either of them; but I was the one who had shot the arrow, and all I could say was: ”It isn't barbed. You can pull it out.”

”Yes, and I'll get blood poisonin', mebbe,” snarled the man. He kept us covered with his revolver muzzle. ”You git!” he ordered.

With his other hand he worked at the arrow and pulled it out easily.

The point was red, but not very far up.

”You'd better cut your trousers open, over that wound,” called Scout Van Sant. ”Did you have on colored underdrawers?”

”None o' your business,” snarled the man. ”You git, all of you.”

”Wait a minute. Don't use that old handkerchief,” spoke Scout Ward. And away he ran for the packs. They were very busy Scouts, those two, and right up to snuff. The arrow wound seemed to interest them. He came back, and I saw what he had. ”Here,” he called; ”if you'll promise not to grab me I'll come and dress that in first-cla.s.s shape. You're liable to have an infection, from dirt.”

”I'll infect _you_, if I ketch you,” snarled the man, fingering his wounded leg and dividing his glances between it and us.

”Well, if you won't promise, I'll lay this on this rock,” continued Scout Ward, as cool as you please. ”You ought to cut the cloth away from that wound; then you dissolve this b.i.+.c.hloride of mercury tablet in a quart of water, and flush that hole out thoroughly; then you moisten a pad of this cloth in the water and bind it on the hole with this surgical bandage. See?” (Note 46.)

”I'll bind you on a hole, if I ketch you,” snarled the man. That hole ached, I reckon.

But Scout Ward advanced and laid the first-aid stuff on a stone about ten feet from the man, so that he could crawl and get it.

”Now hadn't you better give us that message? It's no good to you, and it's done you harm enough,” said Scout Van Sant.