"I knew that if my life depended upon it, I could not have got to the town, as I was, and so I lay there, thinking what to do next. At last I slid down the bank, cut off a hind quarter of the dog, and then managed to drag myself to the "Hole-in-the-wall"—you remember?—where I lay until this morning.
"The dog-meat kept me, and although toward the last it wasn't overly sweet eating, raw at that, I managed to worry it down; for hunger is just a little the best sauce I know of. The last bite I just shut my eyes and thought it was a roasted wild turkey, and it tasted so natural that I actually began to gobble!" declared Polk with an oath.
"Bah!"
"Fact. But this morning, two hours by sun, I saw a horse—that one yonder, it was—straying along the branch, and as he was tame I managed to catch him; rigged a halter from a piece of lime-bark, and lit out for town, where I got, safe and sound, after giving you the hint to meet me here."
"Well, what'd you want, anyhow?" asked Sprowl.
"In a moment. You see I told old Reeves about the hole I'd found, and offered to guide him to it, after dark, to-night. So he sent out messengers, and by this time the vigilantes are all up to snuff.
"You may be called on to help, but if so, I want you to play sick; have a thundering shake, or something of the sort."
"Just what I'd 'a' done anyhow," dryly responded Sprowl. "I have no notion of running my head into the hands of that cursed Poynter. Meagreson didn't pay me for that."
"Well then, you'd just as lieve make a 'double sawbuck' as not, if by doing so you spite Poynter and run no risks?"
"Twenty dollars?"