Following this, Chick Billings swore, easing his pent-up feelings after the manner of stage-drivers generally.
“Pete!” he called.
“Hyer,” answered Pete.
“Bad hurt?”
“Nicked in the shoulder.”
“Waal, brace up, pard. We got ter git out o’ this. The quicker we git ter Sun Dance an’ set a possé on the track o’ these hyer scoundrels, the more show o’ success the possé’ll hev. I say, Hotchkiss!”
“Coming,” replied the miner, getting to his feet and picking up his revolver. “Thet was brisk, while it lasted,” he said grimly, walking toward De Bray.
“If thar’d been one or two more o’ us,” mourned Pete, “we might hev had a diff’rent story ter tell in Sun Dance. How’s De Bray?”
“I’ll do,” De Bray himself answered, climbing slowly to his feet and picking up his hat. “I—I never thought the butt of a musket was so hard,” and he put both hands to the back of his head.
“Yer money is gone, De Bray,” announced Billings.