"If you try to get your blasted gun, I'll sock my knife to you," said Bob. "Shove on in front and stop where the light is."
The trooper advanced awkwardly. His Stetson hat was gone and his head was cut. When he saw the man on the ground he stopped.
"You've killed him," he said. "Put up your hands! You're my prisoners!"
Bob laughed.
"Cut it out! That talk may go at Regina; we've no use for it in the bush."
"An order from the Royal North-West goes everywhere. Quit fooling with that knife. My duty is—"
"Oh, shucks!" said Bob, and turned to the others. "The kid fell on his head and is rattled bad."
"He's hurt; give him a drink, Stannard," said Deering. "We must help the other fellow. Lift his feet; I'll watch out for his head. Get hold, Bob."
They carried the man to the house. When they put him down he did not move, but Jimmy thought he breathed. Deering pushed a folded coat under his neck and held Stannard's flask to his mouth. His lips were tight and the liquor ran down his skin.
"A bad job!" said Deering, who opened the man's jacket. "All the same, his heart has not stopped."