"I've knowed that for nigh onto fifteen years," replied Buck.
Near the Eagle trail Billy Williams and Doc Riley lay side by side, friendly now.
"I tell you we've been shooting high," Doc grumbled. "It's no cinch picking range against that skyline."
"Hey! Look at Hopalong!" cried Billy, excitedly. "Blamed idiot—why, he's going out to that feller. Lord! Get busy!"
"That's Curtis out there!" ejaculated Doc, angrily. "They've got him, d—n 'em!"
"My gun's jammed!" cursed Billy, in his excitement and anger standing up to tear at the cartridge. "I allus go an'—" he pitched sideways to the sand, where he lay quiet.
Doc dropped his rifle and leaped to drag his companion back to the shelter of the cover. As he did so his left arm was hit, but he accomplished his purpose and as he reached for his canteen the Bar-20 pessimist saved him the trouble by opening his eyes and staring around. "Oh, my head! It's shore burning up, Doc!" he groaned. "What th' devil happened that time, anyhow?"
"Here; swaller this," Doc replied, handing him the canteen.
"Who got me?" asked Billy, laying the vessel aside.
"How do I know? Whoever he was he creased you nice. His friends got me in th' arm, too. You can help me fix it soon."