“Oh, you were shot in the right leg, weren’t you?”
He thought perhaps Munson might surmise that he had been suspected of faking, and would seem confused. But he was perfectly cool and replied in casual tones:
“Sure it was the right leg. Did you think it was the left?”
“I had an idea,” Jerry answered.
“Yes, I’ll be in fine shape in a couple more days,” went on Munson, “and then I can help you boys look for those cattle rustlers. I’d like to get hold of the man who shot me.”
“You never will,” thought the lad grimly, “for there wasn’t any such man. You’re a big faker; but what’s your game?”
Jerry cared more for that than for anything else just then. Was Munson in with the thieves? If so, what would it benefit him to pretend to be wounded? Jerry’s brain was tired with trying to get a loose end of the tangle that he could follow.
Ned and Bob, going off by themselves to look for traces of the thieves, were no more successful than the three chums had been together. They returned at the end of a long day, tired and disappointed.
Their zeal was quickened, however, when Jerry told them of the queer discovery in regard to Munson.