"Did you bring this?" asked Ted, of the wretched youth, who still lay upon the ground groaning from his numerous wounds.
There was no reply. The fellow could only toss his head from side to side and rub his legs, into which the bulk of the shot had been fired by the excited Chinaman.
"You won't answer, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you. I'm glad you've given us a week," said Ted, laughing. "That will at least give us time to hold our round-up and festivities."
"Oh, if I live through this I'll never go into anything like it again," moaned the youth upon the ground.
"Here, stand up," said Ted to him. "You're not badly hurt. You're only stung, twice. Get on your feet and we'll see what we can do for you. You're a long way from dead yet. What's your name?"
"Jack Farley. Oh, if I could only be sure that I wasn't going to die!" exclaimed the youth.
He was the young fellow Billy Sudden had spoken about.
"We can't tell how badly you are hurt until you get up," said Ted. "Rise, and we'll go into the house and examine your wounds."
Slowly young Farley got to his feet, but when he tried to walk he uttered a howl of pain, and sank down again.
"Yellow all through," said Ben, in a tone of disgust.