He did not whine, but asked the favor in a fairly decent way.
“Of course we will, Tom Somers. You’ve always been an enemy of mine, but that’s no reason we should leave you like this. There you are!”
Frank purposely allowed his chum to do the cutting. He knew that there had in the past been more or less bad blood between these two lads, and he had in mind a possible repetition of the singular friendship that had sprung up between Jerry and Andy Lasher after the time when the former saved the life of the town bully.
“That’s ‘white’ of you, Bluff, and I ain’t the feller to forget it, neither,” was what the late prisoner said as his bonds fell away.
“You look bruised more or less, so I take it there must have been quite a fight here before they went away?” remarked Frank, questioningly.
The other grinned, though the effort must have pained him not a little, on account of the many scratches and gouges on his face.
“Did they? Well, I should smile, pardner. I only had one husky chap to stand by me, against five; but we pretty nigh cinched things. Pet Peters said he’d get even with me by leavin’ me here a spell, to tempt that wild man. But I had hopes some of you fellers might top the rise and give me a helpin’ hand.”
“Oh! I remember now, you’re the chap who was out West for a year herding cattle. I notice it in your speech,” said Frank, smiling.
“It gets in the blood, when you mingle some with them gents. I try to break off when the fellers kid me, but it crops out when I ain’t thinkin’. But say, it was ‘white’ of you to do this, an’ I ain’t got any call to ask favors of your crowd either.”
A sudden thought struck Frank.