Old Joe Bindloss clutched off his sombrero and mopped the perspiration from his forehead.
“Wal! I’ve seen some things in my time, but I’ll be shot for a hoss thief if I ever come up with the like of this,” rumbled the rancher.
Hippy opened his eyes and a faint grin appeared on his face, whereat, the cowpunchers, as one man, heaved a deep breath of relief. They stood about awkwardly, sombreros tucked under their arms, not knowing what they ought to do, but quite positive to a man that they wished there were more patients to be treated so that they might stay where they were and watch these capable young women work for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER VIII
THE “DUDE” MAKES GOOD
Two-Gun Pete sidled over to Hippy.
“Fer a dude, yer some scrapper. I’ll say so. Shake, Pard,” he said, extending a ham-like paw.
“Yep! Reg’lar bear-cat,” agreed Sierra, and all the cowboys nodded solemnly.
“Thanks! Did we get any of them?” questioned Hippy, not much above a whisper, for every word sent shooting pains through his head.
“Two thet we knows of, and mebby some more. The Old Man’s hoss thet you was ridin’ got his’n, too.”
“Oh, that is too bad. I’m sorry.”