“There’s plenty to tell,” began Chuck. “I’d been taking it fairly easy, figuring on plenty of time to get to the foot of the trail. A little more than a half hour of easy riding this side of the crest of the trail a couple of hombres cut loose on me with rifles.”
“Didn’t they give you any warning?” asked the old cattleman.
“Not a peep until the Winchesters started blazing away. The first thing I knew my horse caved in and pitched me off. I managed to get my rifle and ducked into a side canyon, but it was a trap--no way out. The other two had plenty of shelter behind boulders in that dry wash and they blazed away every time I moved. It was getting along toward dark and looking plenty tough for yours truly when someone else voted himself a hand in the party and cut loose on the bushwhackers from behind.”
Old Bill chuckled. “It isn’t hard to guess who you’re talking about.”
“Well, that changed everything. Slim hit one of them in the elbow and they decided they’d had enough, but on the way out they circled around and stole Slim’s horse.”
“So you started hoofing it down the trail.”
“You mean we started limping down the trail,” said Slim. “These boots of mine were never made for walking and I don’t know when I’ve suffered such agony.”
“That goes for me, too,” said Chuck.
“How about you, Slim? Let’s hear your side of the story,” Old Bill urged.
“There isn’t a whole lot more to tell. I had made camp this side of the summit and was just sitting down to supper when the firing started. I could tell it was two against one so I got my rifle and did a little scouting. When I got down in the wash, I could see they had Chuck penned up and were shooting to kill. I challenged them and they let me have a little lead, so I cut loose. They got away and stole Lightning and I’ve been kind of miserable until you showed up.”