Slipping his own gun into its holster, the half-breed turned and walked toward the spot where he had left the deputy, and as he walked he threw open the cylinder of the officer's gun and removed the cartridges.
"Sam!" he called sharply. Cautiously a head raised from behind a sage bush. "How long you t'ink dat tak' you git well? Wan man he lak' for git arres' w'en you git time."
"Shut up! Don't talk so loud! D'you want to git us killed? Which one got it?"
"Purdy. De pilgrim shoot heem 'cause he run off wit' he's girl."
"Pilgrim! What pilgrim! An' what girl? Ain't that Tex Benton's horse, an' Cinnabar Joe's——?"
"Uh-huh, A'm bor' heem Tex boss for ketch Purdy. An', Ba goss, he shoot heem on he's head after Purdy draw'd!"
Moore stared aghast. "What? A pilgrim done that? Not on yer life! He may look an' act like a pilgrim but, take it from me, he's a desperate character if he got Purdy after he draw'd. It's worser than if it was Tex. He might of took pity on us, knowin' about the fambly. But a stranger, an' one that kin git a man like Jack Purdy! O-o-o-o, my stummick! Bat, I'm 'fraid I'm a-passin' away! These spells is a-killin' me—an' what'll become of the woman an' the kids?"
The half-breed grinned: "Mebbe-so you kin' pass back agin, Sam. He ain' got no gun."
Sam Moore ceased to writhe, and sat abruptly erect. "Ain't got no gun!" he exclaimed. "What did he shoot Purdy with?"
"My gun. He giv' it back to me. A'm bor' heem dat gun li'l while ago."