Frank ran and lifted the fallen professor, flinging the man across his shoulder, and carrying him into the hotel.
Hans followed with frantic haste, and Bushnell came sauntering lazily in after the bandits had been routed and driven back.
"Are you badly hurt, professor?" asked Frank, anxiously.
"I'm killed!" groaned Scotch, dolefully. "I'm shot full of holes, and every bone in my body is broken! Farewell, my boy! We'll meet in a better land, where there are no bandits to molest or make afraid."
"Where are you shot?"
"Everywhere—all over! You can't touch me where I'm not shot! They fired more than four hundred bullets through me! I am so full of holes that I wonder you can see me at all!"
Bushnell made a hasty examination of the professor, who lay on the floor, groaning faintly, his eyes closed.
"Look hyar, pard," said the Westerner, roughly, "ef you want ter pass in yer chips ye'll hev ter stand up an' let me put a few more holes in yer. I can't find a place whar you're touched by a bullet an' I'm blowed ef I 'low you broke a bone when ye tumbled from ther hawse."
The professor sat up with a sudden snap.
"What's that?" he cried. "I'm not shot? I'm not all broke up? Is it possible? Can I believe you?"