One and all of them had seen enough wounds to know that this was serious. But to learn just how bad it was they awaited their leader's announcement.
"That sure is a nasty one," declared Jesse in a few moments. "The shoulder blade's shattered."
"It's too much for me to attempt to fix up. I'll just put a bandage round it and then you'll have to go to some town where there's a sawbones.
"He'll probably say you'll have to lose your arm."
The words evoked groans from the others as Sam wailed:
"And it's me best arm, too. What good'll I be with only one fin left? I wish the devils had a killed me."
"Nonsense, man! Buck up! You can shoot with your left hand and when you get into a fight there won't be so much of you to hit."
This lugubrious consolation did not reconcile Sam to the prospective loss of his good right arm, however, and all through the time his leader was dressing the injury he lamented his fate.
The wounds of the others, though painful, were not serious.
Bud, Bob and Frank had all been hit in their legs.