I had
already heard mirth, anger, disgust, and fear in his outbreaks, and now
relief was added. He stripped off my coat, cut off the bloody sleeve of my
shirt, and washed the wound. It was painful and bled freely, but it was not
much worse than cuts from spikes when playing ball. Herky bound it tightly
with a strip of my shirt-sleeve, and over that my handkerchief.
"Thar, kid, thet'll stiffen up an' be sore fer a day or two, but it ain't
nothin'. You'll soon be bouncin' clubs offen our heads."
It was plain that Herky--and the others, for that matter, except Buell--
thought more of me because I had wielded a club so vigorously.
"Look at thet lump, kid," said Bud, bending his head. "Now, ain't thet a
nice way to treat a feller? It made me plumb mad, it did."
"I'm likely to hurt somebody yet," I declared.
They looked at me curiously. Buell raised his face with a queer smile. Bud
broke into a laugh.
"Oh, you're goin' to? Mebbe you think you need an axe," said he.
They made no offer to tie me up then. Bud went to the door and sat in it,
and I heard him half whisper to Buell: "What 'd I tell you? Thet's a game
kid. If he ever wakes up right we'll have a wildcat on our hands. He'll do
fer one of us yet." These men all took pleasure in saying things like this
to Buell.
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