For it was a horse in agony which sent that moving appeal from the thicket near by, and as soon as “Forty-niner” was sure that the man was recovering, though he could not as yet speak, he sought the poor beast and saw, to his distress, that for it there was no respite save in death.
“Well, well, well! This is a bad job all round, but better a horse than a man, and lucky for both I came when I did. If I had a gun I’d end the misery of one, straight off. And maybe Marty has. I’ll look and see.”
Returning to the road he was greeted by a prolonged stare from the dazed ranchman, who had, indeed, been able to drag his body to a sitting posture, but vainly sought to understand what had happened.
Ephraim spoke to him, asking in a matter-of-fact tone:
“Got a revolver with you, lad?”
“Eh? W-h-a-t?” returned Marty, wonder drawing upon him at finding who his companion was. “You––Eph?”
“Course. Who else! Been quite a spell since we two met, but better late than never. Got a pistol, I say?”
“What for?”
The sharpshooter hesitated, then gave an evasive answer:
“Powerful long since I done any practicin’, and feel like I better try my hand.”