As Bill hurried back to the field of carnage one of his victims was mechanically striving to gain his hands and knees, to go down in a quivering heap by a blow from the insane victor. As Bill drew back his foot to finish his work, Shields broke from his companion and leaped forward just in time to hurl Bill back several steps. “D––n you!” he cried, standing over the prostrate figure, “If you hit another man while he’s down I’ll trim you right! Cool down and get some sense before I punch it into you!”
The Orphan, leaning limply against the bank of the defile, was making foolish motions with his hands, which still held the Colts, and was babbling idiotically, tears of laughter streaming down his face and dripping from his chin. His eyes were closed and he was bent over, rocking to and fro against the wall.
“Oh, Lord!” he sobbed senselessly. “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! Let me die in peace! Take him away, take him away! Let me die in peace!”
“I’m a fine sight to hit Sagetown, ain’t I?” yelled Bill, keeping keen watch on the four prostrate punchers. “They’ll think I was licked! They’ll point to my face and head and swear that some papoose kicked the stuffing outen me! That’s what they’ll do! But I’ll show them, all right! I’ll just take my game with me and prove that I am the best man, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll pile ’em in the coach and lug ’em with me!” grabbing, as he finished, one of the men by the foot and dragging him toward the stage. It took The Orphan and Shields several strenuous minutes to dissuade him from his purpose. Shields placed his fingers on the bones of Bill’s hand in a peculiar grip, and the driver loosened his hold without loss of time.
“You go back to town and get fixed up,” ordered the sheriff. “I’ll take your team out of this and turn them around, and then come back for you. Charley can make the trip if you can’t. I would do it myself, only I’ve got to tell Sneed that he’s shy four more men.”
“I’ll turn ’em around myself–I ain’t hurt,” asserted Bill with decision. “And when I get patched up I’ll make the trip, Pop Westley or no Pop Westley. And I’ll lick the whole blamed town, too, if they get fresh about my face! I’m a fighter from Fightersville, I am! I’m a man-eating bad-man, I am! I can lick anything that ever walked on hind legs, I can!” and he glared as if anxious to prove his words.
After the cowboys regained consciousness and got so they could stand, the sheriff lined them up with their backs to the wall and gave them the guns which The Orphan had obtained for him. The outlaw held them covered while the sheriff told them what they were, and he wound up his lecture with instructions and a warning.
“Get out of this country and don’t never come back!” he told them. “I don’t care where you go, so long as you go right now. If you even show your faces in these parts again I’ll shoot first and talk after.”
“Same here!” endorsed The Orphan, frowning down his desire to laugh at the wrecks in front of him.
“I’ll kill you next time!” shouted Bill, prancing uneasily.