He flicked the biscuit, which caught the cook on the side of the head. For a moment the man started. With his hand upon his temple he flashed a look of hatred towards his assailant. Long Jim laughed carelessly.
“Say, cookie,” the latter went on, “where did you get them eyes? Guess we’ll have to tame you a bit.”
The meal was soon over, and Jim strolled across to where the others were saddling up. He passed his left arm through the reins of his horse and turned once more to look at Craig.
“Say, you mind you do better to-night, young fellow. Eh!”
He stopped short with a cry of pain. The horse had suddenly started, wrenching at the reins. Jim’s arm hung helplessly down from the shoulder.
“Gee, boys, he’s broken it!” he groaned. “Say, this is hell!”
He swore in agony. They all crowded around him.
“What’s wrong, Jim?”
“It’s broken, sure!”
“Wrong, you helpless sons of loons!” Jim yelled. “Can’t any of you do something?”