“Well, did he get everything?” demanded Adams, as Scott entered.
“All he could carry. He left the victrola for you, Jimmy, and the stove for Mrs. Van.”
“Gosh! What did you do with Miss Polly?”
“Left her with the horses in the arroyo.”
“That was smart of you, Scotty. I’ll bet she wanted to come?”
“I’ll bet she did, but she didn’t get to come. Let’s have another look at the leg, Jimmy.”
They bathed it as well as they could. It had stopped bleeding and they bandaged it carefully with another towel.
“I don’t believe the bone’s broke, Jimmy, but I don’t like the looks of it,” said the amateur surgeon. “You need a doctor.”
“There ain’t any except that greaser over at Conejo,” said Adams, gloomily. “Morgan says he’s so dirty he won’t let him touch his kids. I don’t want blood poisoning, you bet. Did they blow up the track?”
Scott nodded. “There’s Johnson,” he exclaimed, looking out of the window. “He’s got the horses but not the girl. Hey, there, Tom, where’s Miss Polly?” he cried as the engineer dismounted and came into the house.