"Mr. Backus," answered the boy.
"Oh, from him. Seems to me he's been having a good deal to say to you lately. Who dressed this for you?" He replaced the bandage.
"Mr. Backus."
"Well, he understands gunshot wounds pretty well, but you take my advice and don't have any more to do with him for the present. He aint good company for young gentlemen with no more brains than you—Hullo! what's that? Didn't you hear something out yonder?"
A faint cry appeared to come from a distance.
"It sounds like a man," said Felipe.
The cry was repeated; it seemed like the word "Help!"
"Come on," cried Stephens, snatching his Winchester from the case and running into the darkness in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. Felipe followed him.
"Help!" came again more distinctly.
In another minute they were on the spot where the body of a man lay writhing on the ground face downwards. Stephens stooped and raised him, and beheld his enemy, Backus.