"I didn't want any bloodshed, Bud," he said. "The boys—great heavens! where are they?"
He had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing.
"Yes, and where's Pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in Bud.
Alarm showed on every countenance.
In the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who had spurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. But now blank looks were exchanged. If they had galloped on—as there seemed to be no doubt they must have—by that time they were probably in serious straits.
"Wait till I get that varmint, and then I'll be with you," cried Bud, swinging off his pony.
The cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up the Mexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a short distance of the trail.
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Merrill anxiously, for the Mexican showed no sign of life.
"Not dead, but pretty near it," Bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open the Mexican's shirt. "The bullet went right neighborly to his heart."