"I—I'm all right. I don't know just why—I—I thought—"
"Save yer breath till yuh got enough of it tuh talk with. I c'n see good enough tuh keep these skunks covered. Yuh shot Vince's gun outen his hand. I thought fer sure you was a goner."
The Lone Ranger heard a soft moan and turned to see Wallie recovering from the blow he sustained when his head struck the floor. Still unsteady on his feet, the masked man carried water in the cup and threw it on the other's face, then he joined Bryant Cavendish after regaining his guns. He sat on the floor and reloaded.
For the first time he was aware of the freshly opened shoulder wound. The blood was soaking through his shirt. His chest, too, bothered him, but there were other things of far greater importance than his personal condition.
Wallie was sitting up with a dazed look in his face.
"You," barked Bryant, "git over there an' stand close tuh Vince."
Wallie obeyed slowly. Meanwhile Lonergan had ceased his cries. The Lone Ranger knew by looking at him that the man was dead. Then he heard Bryant scolding.
"I had two guns," the old man complained. "I'd o' wiped the lot o' them out, if you hadn't messed intuh things so's I couldn't shoot without prob'ly hittin' you!"
"That's just it, Bryant. I didn't want them all killed. We want them alive to talk! There are a lot of other men on this ranch and everyone has been working with these."
"Where they at now?"