"Is he dead?" I asked of Harmer, who came in just then.
"Not he," said Jack, "he's coming to already, but I guess he'll fight no more for a few days. That must have been a sickener. By Jove! how strong you must be—he went out of the door like a stone out of a sling. Lucky he didn't hit the post." And Harmer chuckled loudly, and then went off with me to wash away the blood, and bandage the cut in my forehead.
When I left town in the morning I heard that Jim was still in bed and likely to stay there for some time. And Harmer, who was going to work with Bill Custer, promised to let me know if he heard anything which was of importance to me.
On my way out to my new property I met its late owner and his Indian wife in their ricketty wagon, drawn by the horse I had not thought worth buying. Nettlebury was more than half drunk, although it was early in the morning, and when he saw me coming he rose up, waved his hand to me, bellowed, "I'm a-goin' East, I am!" and, falling over the seat backward, disappeared from view. Alice reached out her hand and helped her husband to regain his former position. I came up alongside and reined in my horse.
He looked at me.
"Been fightin' already, hev you; or did you get chucked off? More likely you got chucked—it takes an American to ride these cay uses!" said he half scornfully.
"No," said I, "I wasn't chucked, and I have been fighting. Did you hear why Siwash Jim left Fleming!"
"No, not exactly," he returned; "but he was sassy with Miss Elsie, and—oh, I dunno—but you hev been fightin', eh? Did you lick him—and who was it?"
"The man himself, Mr. Nettlebury," said I—"Jim; and I reckon I did whip him."
He laughed.