"She's thirty hot miles to camp. Red won't last out," said Long.
"I say he does," said Bud Light. "Did you see them puckers in his hide? I counted seven. He ain't made to be stopped by a gun."
"Mebby he ain't stopped, but he's slowed up considerable. Did you see the two guys he got? Saunders was pretty nigh cut in two and the other one by the bar had four holes in him. I counted 'em, to quit thinkin' of my arm. Them automatics is fierce!"
"He would never 'a' got out if he'd been packin' a regular old six-gun," said Bud Light. "Both them guys were throwin' lead at him."
"How do you know? You wasn't there."
"Easy. He went in to get Saunders. He gets him. The other one takes a hand. He got him. We didn't do any shootin' inside."
"Guess that's right. But how about the barkeep?"
"Oh, he just got in the way. He was drilled between the lamps. In a mix like that who's goin' to take time to draw fine?"
"Did you see Brand lift the Gophertown guy out of his saddle—the one that was shootin' at Red in front of the joint? Brand threw a forty-five into him, and comin' on the jump, too. The Gopher humped up like he'd been horned by the Santa Fé Limited. Now what's the dope?"
Overland Red had again fallen from his horse. Williams beckoned to Long. "Take the Yuma colt, Pars, and fan it for the cañon. Send the doc back, and you stay with that young Winthrop and look after Collie. Your hoss is quieter for Red, anyway. Tell the doc to bring his tools along. I reckon we'll camp over there near the hills till to-morrow."