“A shooting, eh?” said he, looking down at the man on the bed with merely professional interest. “Pretty bad, but I’ll see what I can do.”
The most the doctor could do was to revive Hawkins. The man opened his eyes, and stared around.
“Whar’s Buffler Bill?” he asked feebly.
“Here!” said the scout, pushing close to the bed.
“Yer pard, Hickok——”
“Here, too, Hawkins,” cut in Wild Bill, stepping to the scout’s side.
Hawkins lifted a hand, and brushed it across his forehead.
“The little hoss brought me ter town, eh?” he muttered. “I was purty nigh fagged when I got that thar rope around me an’ tied ter the saddle horn. I reckon I’m about done an’——” He paused abruptly, a faint gleam coming into his eyes as they rested on the sky pilot. “That you, parson?”
“It’s I, Ace,” said Jordan, coming up on the other side of the bed and taking Hawkins by the hand. “Who did this?”
“Red Steve. I reckoned he might.”