“How are you, Kid?” cried Buck anxiously, bending over him, while others looked to Barr's injuries.
“Tired, Buck, awful tired; an' all shot up,” Johnny slowly replied. “When I saw you fellers—streak past this windy—I sort of went flat—something seemed to break inside me,” he said, faintly and with an effort, and the foreman ordered him not to talk. Deft fingers, schooled by practice in rough and ready surgery, were busy over him and in half an hour he lay on Jackson's cot, covered with bandages.
“Why, hullo, Lacey!” exclaimed Hopalong, leaping forward to shake hands with the man Red and Billy had gone to help. “Purty well scratched up, but lively yet, hey?”
“I'm able to hobble over here an' shake han's with these scrappers—they're shore wonders,” Lacey replied. “Fought like a whole regiment! Hullo, Johnny!” and his hand-clasp told much.
“Yore cross fire did it, Lacey; that was the whole thing,” Johnny smiled. “Yo're all right!”
Red turned and looked out of the window toward the Oasis and then glanced at Buck. “Reckon we better burn Harlan's place—it's all that's left of that gang now,” he suggested.
“Why, yes; I reckon so,” replied the foreman. “That's as—”
“No, we won't!” Hopalong interposed quickly. “That stands till Johnny sets it off. It's the Kid's celebration—he was shot in it.”
Johnny smiled.