The horses with the dummies upon their backs now started at a sharp gallop after the one rode by Doc Clancy.
Van led the way to the spot where the other scoundrel lay, and found him breathing heavily, with a wound in his right breast.
A single glance told all hands that the man was dying.
"Give me some whisky," he murmured, faintly.
Jack Howard quickly placed his flask to the dying man's lips.
After taking a couple of huge swallows, the fellow breathed a sigh of relief.
"I suppose you want to know where we got the horses and rigged 'em up," said he. "Well, I'll tell you. We found 'em in the woods t'other side of the plain. They belong to a nation of people who seem to be civilized, from what we seen of 'em, and were rigged with the dummies when we came across 'em. They followed us the minute we turned tail to the place, and Doc, he says it would be a good idea to ride back and get the best of you fellows. Where is Doc?" and he endeavored to raise himself upon his elbow to look around.
"He has escaped," replied Van.
"Well, he'll have to go it alone now. I'm about done for, I guess. Whoever fired that shot meant me; but I'm satisfied. I've been a bad man, and shan't kick now because I've been done up by the ones I've been trying to injure so long. Give—me—a—a—little—more—whisk——"