McCuaig looked at him in mild surprise.
“Why, they was all blown up, and there wasn't anybody to run the gun.”
The M. O. examined the wound more closely and shook his head at Barry.
“We won't touch that now. We'll just bandage it up. Are you feeling pretty comfortable?”
“Fine,” said McCuaig with cheerful satisfaction. “We held them up, I guess. They thought they was going to walk right over us. They was comin' with their packs on their backs. But the boys changed their minds for them, I guess.”
A reminiscent smile lingered upon the long, eaglelike face.
Half an hour later Barry found a minute to run into the adjoining room where the wounded lay.
“Anything you want, McCuaig?” he asked.
“A drink, if you ain't too busy, but I hate to take your time.”
“Oh, you go to thunder,” said Barry. “Take my time! What am I for? Any pain, Mac?”