“Don’t find anything—there ain’t any new hole; mostly mouth,” Jim reported. “Can’t you hold your yawp, Left-over, long enough to tell us what happened to you?”
“I saw the Injuns sneaking up and we all shot at the same time, and I killed them and they killed me,” sobbed Left-over. “If you don’t believe me go out and look.”
“I know,” quoth Billy Cody. “That gun kicked him in the face and plumb broke his nose! She was loaded to do business.”
“Huh!” grunted Left-over, venturing to sit up and feel of his face.
“If you fellows’ll watch I’ll scout around a bit and see what’s what outside,” proffered Billy. “I keep seeing something lying out yonder. Shouldn’t wonder if Left-over did kill an Injun.”
The lightning was fitful but incessant; its pallid flashes played over the landscape—momentarily revealing the drooping mules, the spots of sage, the wagon, the faces on Davy’s right and left, and (as seemed to Davy) exposing, for a brief instance, a dark mass lying farther out on the prairie.
“Well——” began Captain Hi; but he was interrupted. As if borne on the wings of a sudden cool gust from the west there came fresh blare of thunder and glare of lightning. Peal succeeded peal, flash succeeded flash, with scarce an interval. Hi’s voice rang sternly.
“Billy, you and Dave see to those mules, quick, or they’ll stampede. The rest of you pitch what stuff you can into the wagon and stretch guy-ropes to hold her down. This is an old rip-snorter of a storm, and it’s coming with its head down and tail up!”
Nobody paused to question or debate. The storm seemed right upon them. Following Billy, Dave leaped for the mules.
“Tie ’em to the wagon wheels,” yelled Billy, in the pale glare tugging at a picket pin.