"A bullet grazed the side of his head, and then his pony ran away. I guess that came nearer killing him than did the bullet."
"He owes his life to you, and that's no joke," answered the foreman shortly. "We didn't see that he was in trouble till one of the boys discovered you chasing his pony. Then we saw you rope the critter and pack the boss on your own cayuse."
"Was—was anybody killed?" asked Tad hesitatingly.
"No. Mary got a bullet through the calf of his right leg, and Bat
Coyne lost a piece of an ear. Guess that's about all."
"Yes; but what of the others? Were any of the cowmen killed?"
"No such luck," growled the foreman. "We pinked a few of them, but they're too tough to kill. We come mighty near having a fight, however," he mused.
"Near!" exploded the boy. "I should say you were right up to it."
"We've lost a lot of sheep, boy; that's of more consequence."
"How many?"
"No telling. Can't tell till morning. It'll take all day to round up the scattered bunches—those that were not killed."