Chapter Thirty.
A staggering blow.
“Is he dying?” said Abel, as he looked down with commiseration on the man who tried to take his life.
“As sure as the sun’ll rise to-morrow morning somewhere if it don’t here, my son. He’s dying fast. Man can’t live long going through what he’s going through now. He’s dying as horrible a death as a man can die. Hanging would be a blessing to it.”
“Yes, he’s weaker already,” said Dallas, looking at the prostrate man.
“That’s so, my son. I don’t like his dying in my place; but we can’t help it. Let’s get together what we want to take, and go.”
“But there is nothing to load the sledge with,” said Dallas.
“There’s a nice lot of cartridges—pistol and rifle—in a tin in yon corner. We’ll take those and— Well, I’m blessed! They’ve got them, too!”
“How tiresome!”
“But they haven’t got my gold; I’ll warrant that.”