“Go on!” Roy yelled. “I can take care of myself!”
Teddy raised his elbows and Flash galloped away. In a moment horse and rider were out of sight.
Roy sat down on the ground beside the man, stretched his left leg out, and carefully raised the man’s head. Using his leg as a cushion, he managed to elevate the head and shoulders, so that the flow of blood somewhat diminished. As he did so, he noticed that there was no gun in the holster that lay by the man’s side.
“Murderers!” he muttered viciously. “Took his gun away and then shot him. Fine bunch! Something tells me we’re going to have a look for the boys who did this job. I think I’d recognize ’em if I saw ’em again.”
He touched the bandage lightly and observed that the bleeding had almost stopped. There was a dark stain on his leather chaps and on the ground near the man’s head.
“Lost plenty. They sure tried their best to finish him. They took his bronc, too. Maybe they had it in for him. Looks like a miner to me. Poor old geezer!”
He was talking aloud without realizing it, and, of a sudden, the man’s lips began to move. Roy bent closer.
“Take it easy, old boy,” he said soothingly. “Don’t try to talk. We’ll soon have you fixed up.”
“Did they—did they—”
The voice was scarcely more than a whisper.