“You can’t stay here with ’em,” said Sandy Davitt roughly.
“I don’t aim to. We got two extra hosses. Tie Arnold in one saddle; Fisher can ride without bein’ tied, I reckon. Anyway, he’s got to! You help me with ’em, then ride on hard for the boys. We’ll put these two with Jake and hold ’em safe for a spell, then I’ll clean up everything here and light out. A week will do it.”
“You aim to light out, do you?” asked Davitt in surprise. Buck nodded.
“Yep. It’s that or kill Sam Fisher, and I guess I’ve gone my limit to-day, Sandy. We’ve done a-plenty.”
“Suit yourself.” Sandy Davitt shrugged.
“Besides, Tracy will be back soon. We’ll lay charges o’ this murder,” and Buck pointed to the two dead men, “against ’em both and lock ’em up. We’ll git clear off ’fore they are able to travel. Dog-gone it! If Fisher was whole, I’d say shoot, but he’s too much shot up, Sandy. Dogged if I can do it now!”
They led out the horses. Into one saddle they lifted the unconscious Arnold, and then lashed him firmly in place. With an effort, Sam Fisher gained his feet, his right hand dangling in its bandage. The ghost of his old whimsical smile touched his lips.
“Put me up, gents, and I guess I can ride,” he said quietly. “And I still got one good hand for the reins——”
“The reins ain’t goin’ to trouble you none,” intervened Buck. “Ready, Sandy!”
Once he was placed in the saddle, Fisher clung to the pommel, his face livid; the pain of the operation was intense. However, he would be able to ride fairly well.