“Bug Eye!” Roy called softly. He held up his hand. “Take it mighty easy,” he said. “The bleeding’s stopped. We don’t want to start it again.”
“Who is he? What happened? Snakes, he sure looks done in!” Bug Eye, a puncher on the 8 X 8, bent over solicitously, a look of awe on his face. Bug Eye was young and impressionable. Every emotion showed plainly on his frank features.
“Don’t know,” Roy answered. He glanced toward his brother, who, at that moment, came upon the scene.
“Couldn’t find Mr. Ball. Got Bug Eye and a car as soon as I could,” Teddy explained. “Told Curly to see that a bed was fixed up. They’ve already telephoned for a doctor. Nell thought it was you, at first—had an awful time convincing her it wasn’t. She wanted to come with us. Say, what’s the orders? Are we—”
“Have to get him to the car,” Roy said swiftly. “One of you hold his head and shoulders while I get from under.”
Bug Eye placed his arms about the man’s body and held him while Roy removed his leg. The circulation had stopped, and when he tried to step forward he would have toppled over had not Teddy caught him.
“Asleep,” Roy declared, slapping and pinching the leg. “Be all right in a second. Now!” He straightened. “This isn’t going to be any cinch, Teddy. Bug Eye, you kneel down and get your arms under his legs. Teddy, you get next to Bug Eye, and support his back. I’ll watch his head. Careful, now! Easy!”
Inch by inch they raised the unconscious man, and then walked with him toward the car slowly, for the least jar might start a hemorrhage.
“Who shot him?” Bug Eye whispered.
“Don’t know who they were. I saw ’em, though.” Roy stopped and frowned for silence. He did not want the man to hear what really had happened, in case he were able to listen.