The doctor went down on his knees and began an examination.
“How did he get his ticket?” he demanded.
“The horns of Red Thunderbolt did the business for Steve. When I found him he was about gone. I did what I could to keep him alive, and, when I got the chance, I rode to the Star-A ranch. There were a lot of men hanging around the ranch, and I hadn’t a notion what was tip, so I sneaked in and sent Cayuse for Pard Cody.”
“Sufferin’ twisters!” exclaimed old Nomad. “Say, Buffler, was Red Steve the feller we heard yell, back thar in the trail yisterday? Is he the feller thet fired the shot, then dug out while we was mixin’ things with Red Thunderbolt?”
“He’s the man, Nick,” answered the scout. “Red Steve was badly hurt, but he managed to get into this gully and into this ruined ’dobe. If we’d known who he was,” the scout added, “we might have found him long ago.”
“Blame’ quare how things turns out some times,” muttered Nomad.
Red Steve’s eyes were closed, and he seemed scarcely to breathe. Only a groan, now and then coming through his tense lips, gave evidence that he was still alive.
The doctor looked up and shook his head.
“Red Steve is a whole lot nearer the Great Divide than what Jake is,” announced the doctor.
“He’s got to talk before he goes,” cried Benner; “he’s got to stay here long enough to do me justice.”