Part 20 (1/2)

A noise like m.u.f.fled thunder burst into my slumber. I awakened with my body cramped and stiff. It was daylight, and something had happened.

Buell ran in and out of the cabin yelling at his men. All of them except Herky were wildly excited. Buell was abusing Bud for something, and Bud was blaming Buell.

”Thet's no way to talk to me!” said Bud, angrily. ”He didn't break loose in my watch!'

”You an' Greaser had the job. Both of you--went to sleep--take thet from me!”

”Wal, he's gone, an' he took the kid's gun with him,” said Bill, coolly.

”Now we'll be dodgin' bullets.”

d.i.c.k Leslie had escaped! I could hardly keep down a cry of triumph. I did ask if it was true, but none of them paid any attention to me. Buell then ordered Herky-Jerky to trail d.i.c.k and see where he had gone. Herky refused point-blank. ”Nope. Not fer me,” he said. ”Leslie has a rifle.

So has Bent, an' we haven't one among us. An', Buell, if Leslie falls in with Bent, it's goin' to git hot fer us round here.”

This silenced Buell, but did not stop his restless pacings. His face was like a thunder-cloud, and he was plainly worried and hara.s.sed. Once Bud deliberately asked what he intended to do with me, and Buell snarled a reply which no one understood. His gloom extended to the others, except Herky, who whistled and sang as he busied himself about the campfire.

Greaser appeared to be particularly cast down.

”Buell, what are you going to do with me?” I demanded. But he made no answer.

”Well, anyway,” I went on, ”somebody cut these ropes. I'm mighty sore and uncomfortable.”

Herky-Jerky did not wait for permission; he untied me, and helped me to my feet. I was rather unsteady on my legs at first, and my injured arm felt like a board. It seemed dead; but after I had moved it a little the pain came back, and it had apparently come to stay. We ate breakfast, and then settled down to do nothing, or to wait for something to turn up. Buell sat in the doorway, moodily watching the trail. Once he spoke, ordering the Mexican to drive in the horses. I fancied from this that Buell might have decided to break camp, but there was no move to pack.

The morning quiet was suddenly split by the stinging crack of a rifle and a yell of agony.

Buell leaped to his feet, his ruddy face white.

”Greaser!” he exclaimed.

”Thet was about where Greaser cashed,” relied Bill, coolly knocking the ashes from his pipe.

”No, Bill, you're wrong. Here comes Greaser, runnin' like an Indian.”

”Look at the blood! He's been plugged, all right!” exclaimed Herky-Jerky.

The sound of running feet drew nearer, and suddenly the group at the door broke to admit the Mexican. One side of his terrified face was covered with blood. His eyes were staring, his hands raised, he staggered as if about to fall.

”Senyor William! Senyor William!” he cried, and then called on Saint Somebody.

”Jim Williams! I said so,” muttered Bud.

Bill caught hold of the excited Mexican, and pulled him nearer the light.

”Thet ain't a bad hurt. Jest cut his ear off!” aid Bill. ”Hyar, stand still, you wild man! you're not goin' to die. Git some water, Herky.

Fellers, Greaser has been oneasy ever since he knew Jim Williams was lookin' fer him. He thinks Jim did this. But Jim Williams don't use a rifle, an', what's more, when he shoots he don't miss. You all heerd the rifle-shot.”

”Then it was old Bent or Leslie?” questioned Buell.

”Leslie it were. Bent uses a 45-90 caliber. Thet shot we heerd was from the little 38--the kid's gun.”

”Wal, it was a narrer escape fer Greaser,” said Bud. ”Leslie's sore, an'