But even as Big Medicine
grinned joyfully down at him he went off again into mental
darkness, and the grin faded into solicitude.
"You'd kick, by golly, if you was goin' to be hung," Slim
bantered tritely and belatedly, and gulped remorsefully when he
saw that he was "joshing" an unconscious man.
"We better get him home. Irish, you--" Weary looked up and
discovered that Irish and jack Bates were already headed for home
and a conveyance. He gave a sigh of approval and turned his
attention toward wiping the sweat and grime from Happy's face
with his handkerchief.
"Somebody else is goin' to git hit, by golly, if we stay here,"
Slim blurted suddenly, when another bullet dug up the dirt in
that vicinity.
"That gol-darned fool'll keep on till he kills somebody. I wisht
I had m' thirty-thirty here--I'd make him wisht his mother was a
man, by golly!"
Big Medicine looked toward the coulee rim. "I ain't got a shell
left," he growled regretfully. "I wisht we'd thought to tell the
boys to bring them rifles. Say, Slim, you crawl onto your hoss
and go git 'em. It won't take more'n a minute. There'll likely be
some shells in the magazines."
"Go on, Slim," urged Weary grimly. "We've got to do something.
They can't do a thing like this--"he glanced down at Happy Jack-
--"and get away with it.
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