None of the Moonstone boys had supposed that Overland Red was hit. He rode joyfully and even began a poem to the occasion. Williams was first to notice that Overland's speech was growing thick and that his free hand clasped the saddle-horn.

The others, riding a little to the rear, burst suddenly into boisterous laughter. "What you think, Brand?" called Pars Long. "Bud's jest been countin' his fingers and he says there is one missin'. He ain't sure yet, but he's countin' hard. He has to skip when he comes to number one on his right mitt. Says he can't get started to count, that way."

"Some lucky it ain't his head," replied Williams.

"His head? Bud would never miss that. But his pore little ole finger, layin' calm and cold back there. A very sad business, brethren."

"I paid twelve sweaty plunks for her in Los and look at her!" cried Pars Long, doffing his sombrero. The high crown was literally shot to pieces. "I guess I am some wise guy. You fellas kidded me about sportin' an extra high lid. Come on, Chico, they're laughin' at us!"

"If they'd 'a' shot the crown off clean down to your ears, you'd never noticed it," grumbled Billy Dime.

"Mebby I am a flat-headed chicken, Billy, but I got both wings yet," retorted Long.

Billy Dime looked down at the blood-soaked sleeve of his right arm. "The fella that did it is eatin' grass now," he muttered.

"Now, what's the matter with Miguel? Discovered any bullets nestin' in your manly buzzum, Miguel?"

"I think no. But I lose something," replied Miguel, smiling.

"That so?"

"I did have the tobacco and papers here," he said, and he put his hand on his chest. "Now I look and the pocket and some of the shirt is not there—and my tobacco is gone, and the little papers."

"Is that all? Sad. I thought you'd lost a railroad or a steamship or something. Cheer up! Things might be better."

"I think I like to smoke," said Miguel, quite seriously. "I will ride back and get some tobacco and some more papers."

"That ain't all you'll get. Here, smoke up. You look fine in that peek-a-boo shirt. Never knowed you had such a good shape. What size gloves do you wear, pet?" And Pars Long passed tobacco and papers to Miguel, who rolled a cigarette and smoked contentedly.

"Billy, you look sick," said Bud Light.

"Oh, no! I want to go to a dance, right away. Whoa!"

They drew rein. Williams, dismounting, was bending over his companion Overland, who had suddenly slipped from the saddle.

"Where's he punctured?" queried Bud Light.

Williams examined the prostrate man. "Kind of low down, and in the side. 'T ain't bad, but it's bad enough. Got any whiskey?"

"You bet! I got a pocket-gun here. Swiped it in the saloon." And Pars Long handed a flask to Williams.

The riders, standing round the fallen man, watched Williams as he bound up the wound, which was bleeding slowly. The whiskey partially revived Overland. He managed finally to cling to the saddle, supported by Williams.

"She's thirty hot miles to camp. Red won't last out," said Long.

"I say he does," said Bud Light. "Did you see them puckers in his hide? I counted seven. He ain't made to be stopped by a gun."

"Mebby he ain't stopped, but he's slowed up considerable. Did you see the two guys he got? Saunders was pretty nigh cut in two and the other one by the bar had four holes in him. I counted 'em, to quit thinkin' of my arm. Them automatics is fierce!"

"He would never 'a' got out if he'd been packin' a regular old six-gun," said Bud Light. "Both them guys were throwin' lead at him."

"How do you know? You wasn't there."

"Easy. He went in to get Saunders. He gets him. The other one takes a hand. He got him. We didn't do any shootin' inside."

"Guess that's right. But how about the barkeep?"

"Oh, he just got in the way. He was drilled between the lamps. In a mix like that who's goin' to take time to draw fine?"

"Did you see Brand lift the Gophertown guy out of his saddle—the one that was shootin' at Red in front of the joint? Brand threw a forty-five into him, and comin' on the jump, too. The Gopher humped up like he'd been horned by the Santa FÉ Limited. Now what's the dope?"

Overland Red had again fallen from his horse. Williams beckoned to Long. "Take the Yuma colt, Pars, and fan it for the caÑon. Send the doc back, and you stay with that young Winthrop and look after Collie. Your hoss is quieter for Red, anyway. Tell the doc to bring his tools along. I reckon we'll camp over there near the hills till to-morrow."

"Who was it got me?" questioned Overland as he was revived a second time.

"I don't know," replied Williams. "The only distinguishin' brand on him was one I put there. It ain't worryin' him now."

"Like old times," said Overland, trying to smile.

"Like old times," echoed Williams.

"I guess it was Parks," murmured Overland. "He had plenty of chance. I wasn't after him."

Slowly the group of horsemen rode across the desert. The afternoon sun made queer shadows of them and their mounts. Billy Dime rode bent forward. His face was white and beaded with sweat. Overland, on Long's pony, was supported by Miguel and Brand Williams. Pars Long had disappeared in the shadows of the range.

Billy Dime's eyes grew strangely bright. He laughed, gazing at the foreman's back. "The whole damn fuss was wrong, wrong, I tell you! We had no business shootin' up that town."

"But it was considerable pleasure," said Bud Light. "You're off your bean, Billy. I guess you forget what they did to Collie."

Billy Dime leered. The fever from his wound was working through his blood. "Don't pertend to me, Bud Light, that you come on this little pasear on account of Collie. It was her eyes that said to go. You know that. She never said words, but her eyes said to go—and to kill! Do you get that? That's what a woman can do to a man, without sayin' a word. And what did Collie ever do for me? Look at that arm. Look at it! What did Collie ever do for me to get shot up this way?" And Billy Dime began to weep. "I killed two of 'em—two of 'em. I saw 'em drop. I was drawin' fine—fine, I tell you, and I couldn't miss."

Bud Light rode forward to Williams. "Billy's gone off his crust. He's ravin' back there, Brand."

Williams drew Long's flask from his saddle-pocket. "Give him a shot of this. Take some yourself. Miguel and I don't need any. Hold on—I'll give Red a shot first. When it gets to workin', you yip and ride for the hills. We'll all ride—ride, you understand? It'll be a dry camp, and a hard flash, but we'll make it."