“How many did I kill?” he squealed hoarsely. “Are all those mine?”
For the herd had passed, the wagon was untouched, and the chief token of the battle was the half dozen bulky forms lying prone almost in the very trail itself. Davy drew a long breath. That had been an exciting moment. Hi and Jim came galloping in, their mules lathered and puffing.
XI
SOME HALTS BY THE WAY
“Good work,” praised Hi, with casual glance. “Thar are three or four more out yonder. Reckon we’ve got meat enough now for a while.”
“Which are mine?” squealed Left-over. “Did you other fellows kill any? I’d have killed fifty if I’d had any more cartridges.”
“You killed one, all right, Left-over,” asserted the Reverend. “I saw you. You killed him six times and once more for luck.”
“No, I didn’t, either!” disputed Left-over. “I killed seven, mebbe more. I shot seven times.”
“Which is it, Reverend?” asked Hi.