“Can’t he give a description so we can find ’em?”
“Well, he didn’t get near enough to see ’em clearly, he says. And you know one cowboy on a horse looks pretty much like another,” replied the Parson. “I guess Munson’s description won’t be much help. But we’re going to get right on their trail, and maybe we’ll be able to land ’em. They haven’t got such a start as before.”
Poor Jerry was beginning to recover consciousness when they carried him into the ranch house. He opened his eyes.
“Are you badly hurt, old scout?” asked Bob, anxiously.
“Well,” was the slow and low-voiced answer, “I have felt better,” and there was a faint smile which showed Jerry’s grit.
There were some modern conveniences at Square Z, a telephone being one of them, and a message was sent to town for a physician, who, fortunately, was in his office. He promised to come at once in his automobile, and was at Square Z in a comparatively short time.
“You’ve got two invalids to look after, Doc,” remarked the foreman, who had remained behind with the boys when Gimp and the Parson had ridden off after the other cowboys who had already started the chase.
“Two? I thought there was only one.”
“Visitor stayin’ here got himself shot-up,” and Mr. Watson briefly described Munson’s hurt.
As Jerry seemed to be the worse injured, the doctor attended him first, and after a searching examination announced, to the relief of Bob and Ned, that their chum was not in a serious condition.