“Wal, now, tell me ’bout it,” urged the rancher.
To save Hippy from another wearisome recital, Miss Briggs repeated what he had already related of his experiences. The lines of the cowboy countenances grew taut during the recital, but no word was uttered. They were held by the words of Elfreda Briggs, spoken without attempt at embellishment.
“An’ you got two of ’em. Well, I’ll be struck dead if that ain’t the limit. Boys, what do you think ’bout this outfit being tenderfeet?” he demanded, turning brusquely to his men.
The cowboys shifted uneasily and fumbled their hats.
“Boss, I reckon we got to git somebody fer thet. What ’bout Pop? Is he daid?” demanded Idaho.
“No. He isn’t badly hurt. Shot through the shoulder, that’s all,” smiled J. Elfreda. “He is in the bunk-house. Mrs. Gray fixed him up and Sam has been looking after him. I shall go over again soon and look him over. The lieutenant being the worse hurt demanded most of our attention, though Pop has not been neglected,” Elfreda informed them.
“I think the prisoners may need attention by this time,” suggested Grace. “They must be hungry.”
Bindloss growled.
“All right. Pete, see that they get something to eat. Find out if they are ready to talk and let me know.”
“Thank you,” said Grace smilingly.