“Eyah!” ejaculated Gallagher. “D’yu’ ever see th’ likes o’ that, now? Talk about luck—what!”
Ellis carelessly spilled the shells into his hand. “How’s Scotty?” he inquired.
“Oh, him?—he’s all right,” answered the rancher. “He come around while yu’ was a-waitin’ at th’ gate fur Big George, here. He started in to snivel, but I d—d soon shoved th’ handkerchief in his trap.”
“Mighty good job yu’ fixed George as yu’ did,” said the Sergeant. “I didn’t wanta shoot, but I guess I’d a-had to if yu’ hadn’t come along just then. I ain’t heavy enough to rough-an’-tumble it with a bull like him. He well-nigh got me that first trip. Thank yu’, Barney. Yu’re right there with th’ goods, an’ no mistake.... I’ll never forget it.”
“Aw, h—l,” said the other roughly, to hide his feeling. “’Twarn’t nothin’, Sargint. I on’y picked up th’ first thing as come handy—that riata yu’d chucked off’n Scotty. That’s all right.”
A string of oaths from the recumbent Fisk aroused them.
“Hey!” rumbled the growling, bass voice threateningly. “Who is yu’ fellers, anyways? What’n h—l d’yu’ think yu’re at? Yu’l....
“One o’ yu’s Barney Gallagher—I know that. I’ll fix yu’ fur this, Barney!”
Ellis unwound the lariat from around the big man’s legs; then, striking another match, held it to his own face.
“Know me, now?” he said. “George—I reckon I’ve got yu’! Get up, yu’ big stiff, or I’ll fix yu’!”