During breakfast they related to Stella the story of Song's wolf hunt in the chicken house, and the result.
Song was as proud as a peacock, and wore "the smile that won't come off" as he flitted around the table waiting on every one.
"Say, Missee Stella," he said, "Song all samee one cowbloy now, eh? What you sayee?"
"Yes, Song, you have certainly followed instructions. You got your wolf that time, sure. How you likee shootee?"
"No likee, Missee Stella. Makee too much noisee, all samee too much plenty fiahclackers. Kickee like blazes. Plitty near knockee arm outee Song."
The boys stripped Farley after breakfast, and found his legs in pretty bad condition. They looked as if Song's gun had been loaded with smallpox, and all of it had lodged in the lad's legs.
"Boys, we'll have to take relays in picking the shot from our first victim," said Ted. "There's too much work here for one man."
"He's a turrible-lookin' demon now with a hide full o' shot. Ther punctured demon of Demonville! Say, kid, I'd hate ter laugh at yer, but yer a sight. Why didn't yer fix it so's them two charges o' shot would hev been distributed among ther gang? Then yer could sit down o' evenings an' pick shot out o' one another instid o' plottin' agin' ther whites."
"Let him be, Bud, he's having all he can do to think about these shots, as it is. The things for us to do now is to pick them out of him."
"We'll let him count 'em ez they come out. That'll help take his mind off his troubles, but he'll hev ter hev a great head fer figgers."