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.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172