"Smart! real smart!" exclaimed the tall passenger, while a chorus of approval came from the others. "Say, siree, who may yer be, and where aer yer goin'? Yer ain't fer the plains?"
"I'm a smith," answered Jack limply, for his wound was very painful, and the carriage excessively hot.
"A smith, and—here, what's the matter with the lad? Let him sit down. Did the rascal wing yer?"
The big man gripped our hero in his arms as if he were a child, and laid him on the seat. Then he bent over him and spoke softly.
"Whar's the hit?" he asked. "Ah, thar ain't no more need ter ask!"
Suddenly his eyes had detected the dark stain trailing down Jack's sleeve, while he noticed how limply the arm hung. Then his whole attention was attracted to our hero, for Jack marked the occasion of this success of his by fainting. He fell back heavily on the seat, and lay there as deathly pale as the man from whom he had received the bullet.
CHAPTER VII
Friends and Hunters
"My, now, you've given us quite a fright! Feel a bit queerish? Eh?"