“Gus,� he said, “you sittee down. Feel bettah. I gettee you dlink!� Entering the kitchen once more, the Chinese came back with a cup of water. Gus drank it gratefully.
“You’re a fine cook, Sing Lung,� the injured man drawled, handing the cup back. The sun-tanned red had returned to his cheeks, but Mr. Manley noticed that there was just a bit too much color there now.
“Yep, a fine cook,â€� Gus repeated, as though to himself. “A fine cook! Only—you can’t bake bread.â€�
“Here, Gus,� Roy said in a loud voice, “snap out of that! Does your arm hurt much? What happened?�
“What—this?â€� Gus held up the arm and examined it as if it belonged to another man. “Naw, she don’t hurt. Feels kind of funny, that’s all. Well, I’ll tell you what happened.â€� Taking another deep breath, the cowboy regained control of himself with an obvious effort and went on:
“You know I went down to Eagles for the mail.� Mr. Manley turned to Sing Lung and said something in a low voice. The cook disappeared, to return in a moment with a white shirt. While Gus talked, Mr. Manley was using strips of this as a bandage to stop the bleeding.
“For the mail,â€� Gus repeated. “When I reached town I tied my bronc up an’ stopped for a second outside Rimor’s Place, thinkin’ of Checkered Shirt. But I thought there was no use in goin’ in there to look, ’cause, even if I did find him, I didn’t have nothin’ on him. So I started for the post-office.â€� He hesitated, while Mr. Manley wound the improvised bandage tightly about the arm. “Well,â€� he continued, “just then Rimor’s door swung open and a puncher came out. He took a quick look at me, turned around, an’ ducked back again. Boss, that’s plenty tight! Where was I? Yea—he ran in again.
“Thinks I, I’ve seen that buckeroo some place before. Then it hits me like a load of bricks. It was Gilly Froud!�
Teddy and Roy started back. Mr. Manley looked up into the eyes of the injured man.
“Go ahead, Gus,� the cattle owner said tensely. “What else?�