“You’re the best judge of that,� Roy replied coldly.
For a moment Froud glared at the boy. Then, with a snarl of rage, he leaped his horse forward.
This was the chance Roy had been playing for. Digging his heels into his pony’s side, he met Froud head on. There was a wild yell. The boy threw himself on one side of his saddle at the very moment that Froud fired. Roy felt his horse twitch beneath him, and knew the pony had been hit. But the horse remained on its feet. Now the boy had his own gun out, and, taking as careful aim as he could in that poor light, he fired. The cattle rustler’s face went white, and his right arm dangled helplessly.
But the rustler was not beaten yet, and, in a moment, had transferred his gun from his right to his left hand. He fired again, and Roy felt a sudden sting on his left ear. The boy took aim once more, and again pulled the trigger.
This time he missed completely, but Froud had had enough. Wheeling his horse about, he made off at a gallop.
Roy watched him go. He could not bring himself to shoot a man in the back, and Froud probably counted on this. He also knew that Roy would not follow, for, with a wounded horse, he had small chance of catching the rustler.
Roy put his hand to his ear.
“Got it,� the boy said as he saw a dark stain of blood. “Go on, run, you horse thief! I’ll get you later!�
Roy then remembered that he had felt his pony wince, and the boy dismounted to learn the extent of the bronco’s hurt. It was merely superficial, Roy noted with relief, and while the horse would have to travel slowly, there was no danger from the wound. He had been hit in the right flank.
The sun was high above the horizon when Roy rode into the yard of the X Bar X. He was tired and thirsty. His face was bloody from the wound in his ear. His horse was limping painfully.