Frank groaned weakly.
"Hey, pard," interrupted Tony, suddenly bethinking himself of their wounded companion, "How you comin' along?"
"Give me a drink," returned the elder James brother in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "I feel as if I was dying."
"Bosh," retorted Tony. "I know them symptoms. You're been loosin' some red juice. Here, take a pull at the flask. It'll put you right in a jiffy."
Frank James gulped down the liquor greedily, so much so that for the instant it nearly strangled him.
"How's that," grinned Tony in the darkness, fetching the flask away and restoring it to his ample hip pocket.
"B—b—better," coughed Frank. "But I'll be bad again in a minute. Where's Jess?"
"Dunno. He vamoosed like a lightning bug. Sloped after the Indian maiden I guess."
"Call him back quick," demanded Frank. "You, Texas. Hurry or I'll bleed to death. I'm bad hurt, I tell you fellows."