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'
he'll shoot fer keeps. Buell, you've started somethin'."
When Bill had washed the blood off the Mexican it was found that the ball
had carried away the lower part of the ear, and with it, of course, the
gold earring. The wound must have been extremely painful; it certainly took
all the starch out of Greaser. He kept mumbling in his own language, and
rolling his wicked black eyes and twisting his thin, yellow hands.
"What's to be done?" asked Buell, sharply.
"Thet's fer you to say," replied Bill, with his exasperating calmness.
"Must we hang up here to be shot at? Leslie's takin' a long chance on thet
kid's life if he comes slingin' lead round this cabin."
Herky-Jerky spat tobacco-juice across the room and grunted. Then, with his
beady little eyes as keen and cold as flint, he said: "Buell, Leslie knows
you daren't harm the kid; an' as fer bullets, he'll take good care where he
stings 'em. This deal of ours begins to look like a wild-goose stunt. It
never was safe, an' now it's worse."
Here was even Herky-Jerky harping on Buell's situation.
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