Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a miserable spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his shaken nerves became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he was a companion of the two men about whose exploits he had heard so much. Evidently the stories had not been exaggerated. What must they think of him for giving way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to see a horse blunder into the open on Red's side of the house, and after it blundered its owner, who immediately lost all need of earthly conveyances. Holden laughed from the joy of being with a man who could shoot like that, and he took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with the determination to let his companions know that he was built of the right kind of timber after all, wounded as he was.
Red's only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, was, “He must 'a' thought he saw a spider fight, too.”
“Hey, Red,” called Hopalong. “The big one is dead.”
“What big one?”
“Why, don't you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him an'—”
“Go to the devil!” shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger.
“Presently, presently,” replied Hopalong, laughing.
So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the defenders were wounded, Holden desperately so.
“Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch,” Hopalong suddenly announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of them had to stay.
“We'll toss for it; heads, I go,” Red suggested, flipping a coin.