Ere the man had fully recovered from this last whack, Chunky had sprung forward and snatched up the bandit’s weapon.
“Now you get out of this before I get mad. I’m only out of patience now, but when I’m mad I’m a dangerous man. Get!”
With his own revolver trained on him, the bandit evidently considered prudence the wise course. He had not yet fully recovered from Stacy’s last wallop, and staggered as he ran to his horse. As he swung into his saddle, a shot from somewhere brought a grunt from the fellow, and the Overlander saw the bandit shudder.
“Don’t shoot! He’s hit,” warned Elfreda.
“I didn’t shoot this time. It was someone else,” flung back the boy. “You move, and you move fast. And next time you steal a fellow’s beans and fish, you pick out some fellow who’ll stand for it!”
The outlaw rode away at a brisk gallop, swaying a little in his saddle, still considerably dazed from Stacy’s two wallops, and in pain from the bullet that had hit him.
“Stacy! Oh, Stacy!” cried Elfreda, running to the boy and throwing both arms about him. “You wonderful boy! I never thought you had such courage.”
“Courage? I’m a hero! I always was. All I needed was the opportunity to show that I am. I ought to have a medal.”
“You shall have one. Do—do you think he will come back?” she asked with an apprehensive glance in the direction taken by the outlaw.
“Come back? Why, I should say he wouldn’t. That fellow is scared stiff. You couldn’t drag him back here.”